Remembrance Trilogy II: Renewal
by Autumn L
Summary: Movie 07. Sequel to Reunions. While the Autobots are dealing with their unplanned publicity, the Decepticons have slipped off the radar but are hardly inactive. Simmons may have the key to finding them. Meanwhile, Ironhide is feeling his age.
1. Prologue

_My apologies for the delay on this, and I hope everyone will bear with me through the Prologue and Part One, I revised them several times but I'm not sure how successful I was. Part Two and Three are shaping up better, and as time goes on I will be addressing the questions that were asked about events in Reunions, so please stay tuned!_

_This fanfic is dedicated to Dvandom of the Allspark boards for his story "Scars", and also to Dragontail of the Allspark for general inspiration. Thank you both for giving me TF concepts to think on._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, they belong to Hasbro/TakaraTomy, these incarnations also property of Dreamworks and Paramount. This story is for entertainment purposes only. _

* * *

**Transformers: Renewal**

**Prologue**

Optimus Prime looked around at the Autobots gathered in the Ark's "front" room, including those on Teletraan-1's screen who were at Autobase One. He had already spoken with Trailbreaker and Rattlelatch, both now stationed in Washington D.C.. The rest were divided between the bases as evenly as possible -- one way or another. By necessity Perceptor was at Autobase continuing his experiments with the Allspark shard. Ratchet had chosen to remain there until a proper med bay could be rigged up in the Ark, spending his time working out the best way to achieve that goal. Despite how the desert terrain suited their natures better, Ironhide and Chromia had returned to Autobase. Broadcast had command there wih Arcee as his second, Tracks wanted to be closer to civilization, Thundercracker was still under Ratchet's care, and Bluestreak was inclined to make sure the former Decepticon kept his word.

Prowl, Red Alert, Inferno, and Firestar had resumed their Cybertron command hierarchy, while Moonracer served as medic for the crashed ship in the meantime. With the help of Gears and Windcharger, Huffer was slowly but surely working through the Ark's internal structures, adapting anything that was irreversible.

Optimus glanced into the camera transmitting his image to Autobase and met the gaze of Broadcast, who was sitting on Tracks' shoulder to have a higher perch above the larger mechs, and gave a small nod. The communications officer and temporary base chief nodded back. "Today I received the most recent survey from Agent Epps. The responses are still mixed, so I would like to once again ask that you all maintain your cover while away from base. To be honest, I think it will be some time before our presence is significantly accepted to where we could walk down a street without repercussions."

"There's always gonna be _somebody_ who's afraid, Optimus," Broadcast pointed out. "We can't wait forever for 'em to change their minds. I think it would help if they could get to know us better. Not that I'm suggestin' a rally downtown tomorrow, but it's somethin' to consider at some point."

"We shall see," Prime replied. "Does anyone have concerns or opinions on the matter?" He waited patiently. The smaller bots on his side shrugged. Ratchet and Ironhide were unusually silent. If he didn't know any better, Optimus would have thought they were both looking at Prowl, waiting to see what he would say. Something unspoken was going on amongst the three of them. He attributed it to the tensions that had yet to cease amongst _all_ of the Autobots.

Tracks cleared his vocalizer. "I agree with Broadcast. The humans will not adjust unless they have reminders that we are here and will not be leaving simply because some of them don't like us. Why miss opportunities to mingle with those who _do?"_

"Heh," Huffer piped up, "Still hung up on that car show, eh, Tracks?"

Tracks scowled. "They have better taste in appearances than _you."_

Optimus sighed loudly, seeing a fight brewing again. "We need suggestions, my friends, not criticisms."

Huffer waved one hand. "I'm not criticizing. I'm speaking the truth."

"You are lucky I am not there, Huffer," Tracks threatened, "Or else you would not _dare_ say--"

"Quiet!" Ironhide snapped, pushing the blue mech out of the camera's range. The older mech settled right back into his stoic pose, ignoring the fact that he had removed Broadcast as well.

Prowl eased his way past Inferno to stand before Optimus. "Prime, if I may -- I believe Tracks might have the right idea. Let us spend more time among the humans. We can keep up our alternate appearances yet also show them what we can do to help them. I would like to take my team to a populated area where we could record how the humans approach dangers and find out how receptive they would be to our specialized assistance."

Optimus gazed thoughtfully at Teletraan-1's console, then glanced at Ratchet and Ironhide. The medic gave a quick scowl and turned away, busying himself with checking one of his built-in monitors. Meanwhile, Ironhide shrugged then replied, "I don't see why not. We are only going to have to reveal ourselves whenever the Decepticons come out of hiding."

_All to true,_ Prime silently agreed. "Very well. Prowl, you may take your team out. The rest of you may make excursions and observations, but be careful. Until we are certain of the whereabouts of the Decepticons, we will have to limit close contact so that no more of our allies are put at risk."

"But if the humans are to be your allies, are they not _all_ at risk?" The question came from someone behind Ratchet and Ironhide. The two stepped aside, giving Thundercracker room -- and attention he hadn't wanted so directly. He hunched his head down between his patched shoulder armor, red optics shifting back and forth. Ratchet had repaired him using what systems and exoskeletal layouts were left after all the damage, as yet unable to restore the Neutral to his former height. This Thundercracker had accepted for the time being. "In that case, you might as well find closer contacts, more friends who will advocate for you. During my recovery I learned from the World Wide Web that humans in large numbers tend to go with the popular opinion in order to remain in each other's favor. Gain the highest number of followers, gain the popular opinion. Those who don't approve of our presence will be outvoted."

"To put it delicately," Gears scoffed. "Human social structure is much more complex than that. What part of the 'Web' were you studying?"

Ratchet interrupted, "Gears, that is besides the point. We _do_ need more close allies who understand us. But we should go about it carefully. Those we currently count among our friends were tested in battle, showing they did not have ulterior motives. Not every human will be like that -- nor be willing to face such a deciding situation. There may come a time when select humans would try to gain our trust in order to spy on our operations."

A few pointed glances were turned toward Thundercracker. Ratchet growled. "There were no extraneous implications there and you all _know_ that!" He suspected it would hurt the Neutral's pride if he stepped in front of him, so Ratchet resisted the urge to block those glances. Thundercracker gave no sign that he had noticed them or was perturbed by them.

Prime spoke up before anyone could refute the medic's claim. "For now my orders stand at observing. _No_ direct contact and avoid confrontations if anyone approaches you about your symbol. Is this clear?" He looked at the bots around him, then at the screen. Tracks was back in view and appeared to be miffed. No one else offered comments. "Dismissed."

A few salutes came from the Autobase crew, but mostly they wandered off screen. The others at the Ark did the same, except for Prowl's team who held their salutes until Prowl himself lowered his hand. "Sir, shall we leave now or would you prefer for us to wait until there is more progress on the Ark?"

"The ship's condition is as good as it can be at this point. Plan out which areas you are going to visit so we can track you from here. Always work in pairs if not the whole team together. I want no one operating alone."

"Yes, Prime." Prowl nodded. "I will forward the data to you within the hour."

"Take your time. I would prefer if you wait until tomorrow to leave."

"Certainly." Prowl smiled. "Thank you." He nodded to his team and they filed out to return to perimeter duty. Optimus smiled as well. He was glad to have Prowl present again. Chromia had turned down the offer of first lieutenant, so he had asked Prowl to take the position. He had humbly accepted. Chromia had also turned down Broadcast's request, recommending Arcee instead with the suggestion of a younger mech being more suitable. Prime was curious about it since Chromia had always cited experience and age as a necessity. Yet it _was_ good to see some cooperation for a change.

* * *

Onslaught tapped his fingers on the side of the angled monitor's screen, glaring at the mech who glared right back at him. "You are commanding our Earth-based operations. I still control our space operations. I can _not_ send you any more resources, Motormaster. You have more than enough at your disposal." 

"I need specific items to repair Dirge! While he has proven to be expendable, it would be better if we keep him alive."

"You have the Constructicons for things such as that."

"Hook says he needs the proper material. All sustaining parts and equipment are in reserve. You _know_ that!"

"Then chose between Dirge and Thrust. Their parts are interchangeable." Onslaught scowled in warning. "Waste no more of my time. We have our own shortages to worry about here." He cut the connection before Motormaster could make another demand. Then he angrily drummed his fingers on the console.

Vortex entered the comm room, having been standing in the doorway throughout the conversation. "Shortages, eh?"

"Of soldiers, or bodies, either one," Onslaught said, turning his seat and steepling his hands. "I should not have agreed to send down Skywarp and Thrust. We might have Astrotrain, but they have Tidal Wave. An uneven distribution of forces, given the odds we could be facing." He finished sharply, "I expect _any_ number of Autobots could arrive during this crucial period."

Vortex erased what he had been about to say and nodded a little too enthusiastically. "So, why are we waiting for Starscream?"

Onslaught worked the battle mask that covered his mouth, debating if he wanted to take his ire out on Vortex or not. He decided it would do no good, since the one he truly wanted to give a piece of his mind to_was_ Starscream. "We are and we are not. Right now we observe the humans and see if they reject the Autobots. If they do not, we give them reason to. At the same time, it fits with Starscream's orders to sit around waiting for his useless shell to return. Yet, if Lord Megatron is successfully recovered, we leave for our own facility elsewhere to restore him. _Then_ we see if he wants us to even bother with this pathetically primitive planet. The humans have already damaged their planet beyond repair. Another century and it would be a wasteland for us. Why squander our time?"

"Unless Megatron says otherwise," Vortex ventured.

"Yes. I will await contact from Soundwave. Motormaster and his ilk are only good for one thing: ruining the reputation of the Autobots. That will be Phase Five."

"But Motormaster is equally as loyal to Megatron as we are."

"He also likes to give orders. I am sure he is convinced he has Soundwave under his control. Fool. He deserves to remain with Starscream."

Vortex knew his commander's hatred for all beings tactically inferior was on at full charge, and he decided to not fuel it further. "In short, we await _Megatron."_

"Yes."

* * *

Ratchet stirred from contemplation of a new and improved medical bay when his internal comm alerted him to an incoming secure video feed from Washington D.C.. He used a cable to hook his communicator into the computer. "Receiving." 

Rattlelatch's face resolved out of the initial static. "Got some news on the preliminary study of the 'bug'. It's a Decepticon that operates partly by remote control and partly imbued with a tiny spark of its own. It is designated as _Bombshell._ I found plant residue and dirt on it that doesn't match Autobase's local flora or soil. But they do match..." He paused for a second. "...Those by where Will lives."

"But it was here before Will came to the base." Ratchet stroked his tusks in thought, then realized what Rattlelatch was getting at. "It came in with someone else."

The smaller mech nodded. "It's very likely it was planted on Ironhide. Given the timestamps on the data, I would say it was Ratbat's doing."

Ratchet frowned. "Could that be the actual reason they had targeted Will? It would have been all too easy to engage Ironhide while he was distracted protecting Will, and use him as transport for the insect-'Con. Do _not_ tell Ironhide your conclusion," he warned. "I will handle that part. Did you extract the data this Bombshell collected?"

"Yes. Most of what it downloaded we already know they used. My deployment to D.C., the East Oakland team, the key, Trailbreaker's vehicle form and political affiliation. They obviously already knew the Ark's location."

"Not that it was difficult to miss since they knew what to look for." Ratchet then rumbled unintelligibly before continuing, "Couldn't be helped. Did you get anything _from_ our guest?"

"I tried." Rattlelatch held the container holding Bombshell to his camera and shook it. "Bugger's got an amazing firewall. I haven't been able to crack it yet. Definitely Soundwave's work."

Ratchet nodded. "Do not push it, then. I am sure he has something nasty waiting behind it."

"Heh, don't have to tell me. I ran across some of his toys back on Cybertron. I'm not taking any risks."

"Good. Find out anything else you can within those boundaries. Remember, not a word of this to Ironhide."

"Don't worry. He doesn't ever call me out of the blue so there's little chance I'll slip. I'll report in as soon as I find out something interesting." After another nod from the medic, Rattlelatch disconnected. He then glanced down at the human seated cross-legged by his foot and smirked. "Should we see if we have another assignment, or should we play hooky and try to crack another layer on this guy?" He casually tossed the container up, caught it, then rolled it between his hands a few times before tossing it up again.

Bombshell cursed both the Autobot and his government-assigned human partner.

* * *

Moments later Ratchet heard the sound of a mis-aligned leg joint just before Ironhide's horned head cleared the med bay entrance. For a second he feared his conversation had been overheard, but one look at Ironhide's face put the fear to rest; he wore a familiar look of resignation about the impediment to his leg. Ratchet calmly turned and stood to greet his patient, tools unfolding from his arm casements. Ironhide seated himself on a table without a word, leaning back on his hands while he stretched his legs out. He motioned with his head to his right leg, then lowered his gaze to the floor on his left. 

Ratchet accepted that nothing had been heard and put it out of his processor as he examined the warrior's upper leg and hip. "Severely painful, or catching on a cable again?" Ironhide grunted, which was the repsonse Ratchet had expected. "With some of the supplies I recovered from the Ark, I might be able to combine parts with human tech to finally replace the whole thing."

Ironhide grunted more quietly, which made Ratchet pause and look at his face, but he spoke before the medic could comment. "Ratchet, am I old_enough?"_ His voice was particularly gruff.

Ratchet raised one half of his brow plating. "Old enough for what? You are older than dirt -- according to the history of some organic planets."

Ironhide didn't answer, his gaze still on the floor. He exhaled heavily through his intakes.

Ratchet took a careful visual scan of him, his expression turning to concern. "Ironhide, is something wrong?"

The other mech scowled and seemed to draw into himself, his optics dimming. Ratchet considered Ironhide's question and compared it to recent events. In the months since the Ark crash there had been several operations to keep the non-publicized bots under cover. It hadn't been easy, but they had all been patient, and things had surprisingly quieted down. The humans seemed to be looking to their governments to decide for them. There had been several attempts by UFO enthusiasts to stake out the Ark. An improved misdirection field at both bases had cut down the number of visitors and intervention by the division lead by Robert Epps helped with the rest. While Ratchet didn't mind more contact with humans, he understood that some things needed to be protected for the time being.

He knew Ironhide felt much the same, so he doubted the human element was bothering him. Or perhaps it was, in a different way than potential invaders. Knowing how short the lives of his human friends were compared to his own might have him feel age-conscious.

Ratchet paused his thought process and looked at the warrior again. Ironhide's face was still, with no trace of annoyance at the delay to the repairs or at the medic's scrutiny. He also showed no indication of answering Ratchet's question.

The medic himself grunted and went back to work, grumbling, "I have ways of making patients talk, you know." When no retort came, he tucked away the cable he had adjusted and placed his hands on the edge of the table, optics searching the warrior's visage again. Ironhide finally met his gaze and stared back passively. Ratchet felt an alarm go off in his processor. With a warning in his tone, he said, "Iron_hide..."_ He leaned forward until he was an inch from the other mech's face. "I _will_ tell Chromia."

"She already knows."

Ratchet drew back slightly. "So this involves both of you?"

"Ratchet."

"Yes?"

"I asked you a question. I did not inquire to receive criticisms. I want your feedback as a professional, not as my friend."

Ratchet was taken aback but then he nodded. "My first question that followed yours still stands. I need to know what context you wish to define your age by."

"Am I old enough to merge my spark with Chromia's?"

Ratchet had to fight to contain his shock. _Join, merge,_ and even _combine_ meant very different things in regard to sparks. The medic cleared his vocalizer and moved to the end of the table, using the three-dimensional light projector to bring up the profile on Ironhide's spark. He quickly scanned the other mech to have an updated image. "This is your spark as it stands now." A sphere of pulsating blue energy rose from the projector, marred by jagged lines and what looked like small punctures, all highlighted in green. "This is my most recent scan of Chromia's." Another blue sphere rose up, shifting the other to the side. It, too, was marked by green. Ratchet had the computer overlay them. Overlapping marks shown in a brighter green, while several gaps blinked red.

"I regret to tell you that you literally do not have a whole spark between you."

He heard Ironhide utter a quiet sound that he had never heard the mech make before. A sob.

* * *

**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 1

**Renewal**

**Part One**

Sam Witwicky lounged on his back atop the roof of his car, feet carefully resting on the windshield as he soaked up the sun as well as the feeling of freedom every teenager feels when summer break arrives. The difference between him and the majority of high schoolers that summer was that he had graduated and did not have to return to the same imprisoning walls in September.

From the car's open windows came the chorus from Alice Cooper's _School's Out,_ one of numerous anti-school, pro-summer songs Bumblebee had queued up for the occasion. Despite how Sam had been taking the day to relax, he couldn't help thinking of weighty matters, including ones that would be affect his choice of college majors.

"Hey, 'Bee?"

The music lowered. "Yes?"

"I noticed Ironhide's been really quiet since he got back from the Ark."

"Has he? He seemed fine to me."

"Well, you haven't been to Autobase that much." Sam reconsidered. "But I only go there when you do... Um... I dunno. He just seems that way to me. You think something's up?"

"Should I ask him for you?"

"No, no. I was just wondering if anyone else noticed."

"Sorry. He appears to be Ironhide-like to me. How would you describe the difference?"

"He reminds me of my dad when he's thinking about something but doesn't want to share it with anybody, even my mom."

"So we would not get any clues from Chromia?"

"Probably not."

"Where did this line of thought come from?"

"Mm, I dunno. Just thinking."

"About alien robots when you just got out of school?"

Sam sat up and slid down off the roof to sit on the hood, acting as if he was talking to someone sitting next to him. "Well, I was thinking of becoming a mechanic so I could help fix you guys when you got hurt. Then I realized I would need electrical engineering knowledge, too. Then I started thinking about how that defines you guys as machines, but you're more than that. I thought of Ironhide as an example, since he's not acting as machine-like as usual."

"So...then...usually you think Ironhide is just a machine?"

"Well,_no._ He's just... not really all that emotional. Unless the topic is about battle." He leaned back against the Camaro's windshield.

"He was programmed for battle, Sam. Sometimes he can't help it."

"That's gotta be weird. Waking up in the morning and instead of saying 'Wow, it's nice out today', it would be, 'Wow, I wonder how many targets I can destroy today'."

_"Sam."_

"Sorry!" The boy sat up again. "But doesn't that sum it up? What do _you_ think about when you first wake up?"

"Arcee."

"Wait, what?" Sam nearly slid off the hood. "Seriously? Heh! Ahem, I mean, very cool. I hope that works out for you."

"It is, thank you." Bumblebee kept the amusement out of his voice. He had hoped to derail Sam's train of thought and had succeeded. Meanwhile, he transmitted the conversation to Ratchet in case there was something more behind Sam's comments than just human curiosity. He was always alert for signs indicating side effects from handling the Allspark. If reading more into one Autobot than what other mechs saw in that same one was an indication, it was worth noting.

* * *

The top level of Autobase was filled with a thumping bass beat and vibrant guitars. Tracks shirked his turn at guard duty in order to watch Broadcast twist, jump, flip, and spin to the music. The larger mech kept tapping his foot in time, smiling at Broadcast's acrobatic fervor. "I say, Broadcast, you almost look like you are preparing for a competition."

"Might be." The comms officer flipped backward and stood on his hands, grinning at Tracks upside-down. "As soon as Prime allows us to interact daily with humans, I'm hittin' the clubs!"

"I might have to join you. It seems like it could be fun."

Broadcast pushed off the floor and twisted in the air, landing on his feet. "Just wish Jazz coulda had more time to experience this stuff. He woulda loved this." He spun then did a split, only to move back up to his feet again in the next moment.

"Yes, he would." Tracks nodded in agreement. He leaned against the wall, taking a lazy glance out at the junkyard.

Broadcast went on to a complicated series of moves while standing on his hands again. "Tracks, do you believe in ghosts?"

"Refresh my memory on the term, please." After the small mech did so, Tracks clasped his chin in thought. "I am honestly not sure. I think I would need to experience an encounter first."

"Guess so. I was rememberin' that time I went trick-or-treatin' with Sam an' Mikaela. We didn't have any proof, but it would be pretty amazin' if that's where our rescue came from."

"Indeed." Tracks felt a shiver pass up his frame, and started to scowl at the timing. Then he glanced outside again. "Hmm..."

_"Hmm,_ what?" The comms officer flipped back to his feet. The LED screen in his chest displayed numbers as he turned down his volume. He then walked over to see what had caught Tracks' attention.

"I thought I saw something move by the east floor gate." Tracks nodded in a subtle motion toward one of two disguised platforms that lowered into the base. The piles of junk over it appeared the same as always. He continued to stare at the spot while Broadcast turned with his right side to the junkyard, seeking to localize any unusual sounds.

"Don't hear anythin'," he whispered. "No, wait. There's a difference in the wind over there. Extra disruption by somethin' solid. I haven't heard'a anyone addin' to the camo."

"Me, either." Tracks sent a secure message to Arcee. Seconds later, a hot pink motorcycle with a holographic driver drove out of the garage below to their right. They both remained focused on the spot. Nothing moved, and when Arcee circled the spot, she sent back a message signaling an all clear.

Broadcast peered at the location for a few moments longer. "Makin' me paranoid that the 'Cons could be disguisin' themselves as burnt-out toaster ovens."

"I fail to see the tactical advantage."

"There ain't one, other than spyin' on us. We been on the lookout for bugs, so it wouldn't surprise me if they tried somethin' weird. Did you see that flyswatter Ratchet made?"

"The one that has a jet pack and transforms in record time?"

"Yep."

"I try to stay away from it."

"Heheh, don't have to tell me. Thing goes after R an' B all the time. I told Ratchet to fix the parameters on it. He said he'd match it to my frequency. _Har-har."_ He rolled his optical cameras.

Tracks chuckled. "Perhaps we should be glad it _hasn't_ found any Insecticons yet."

"True, true." Broadcast suddenly darted a glance outside again, one hand going up to adjust the dial on the left side of his head. After a few seconds he relaxed. "Paranoia. Gonna keep me on my toes more'n the music."

* * *

ARROW agent William Lennox regarded the round-ended MP3 player in his hand thoughtfully as he fitted the earpieces into place. He then pressed the play button. A nostalgia-invoking rendition of _White Christmas_ sung by Bing Crosby started to play. He chuckled. "Wrong season." The song stopped and Don Henley's _Boys of Summer_ took its place. "Close enough." He smiled and listened contently.

A large shadow fell over him and he leaned back, looking up at Powerglide. The mech had his battle mask withdrawn to show his frown. "Are you _sure_ that one is safe?"

"I wouldn't be handling it if I wasn't."

Powerglide made a sound of distrust. The little device beeped musically in response. Powerglide shook his head. "You and I were created by the same force, regardless of differing situations, so don't try those _'Yo momma'_ jokes on me!"

The MP3 player blooped apologetically. Will chuckled again. "Come on, Powerglide, you gotta admit he's kinda cute."

"Ehn. If I hadn't seen so many of them go psychotic in the test videos, maybe. I still doubt that human technology can hold up to being sparked. It might have been reverse-engineered from a Cybertronian, but humans do not have Cybertronian materials. We can emulate your metals but there are still some things that can't be duplicated on this planet."

"Yeah, I've seen the list. I hear someone recently tried to coax you into telling them how you avoid detection."

Powerglide grinned. "And I reminded them I was part of covert ops for a reason."

"So, how _does_ it work, without giving away secrets?"

"My armor was specially created to deflect -- and contain -- traces of my Cybertronian nature. Anyone scanning me would register a common vehicle."

"Which is why Sector Seven didn't know you were an alien."

"Exactly."

The MP3 player beeped repeatedly. Powerglide gave it a doubting look. A tell-tale _chk-chk-CHACK_ noise came from it, then Lennox was suddenly leaping to his feet, yanking the earpieces from his head. They immediately whipped around his wrist as he tried to drop the player itself. It transformed as it swung from his wrist, momentum carrying it into an arc that was increased by Will dancing backward. The MP3 player-turned-robot emitted a close approximation of Cybertronian words as its four grasping limbs reached to grab Will's hair.

He slapped it away but it hung on by the wires and snapped right back toward his head again. Scowling in annoyance Will flicked his wrist, sending the wires into a circular spiral winding toward him. He took out his badge as the spiral tightened and put it in the mechanoid's path before it could grab his skin. It smacked into the metal badge with a tame _clink_ then fell like a spent yo-yo suspended from the wires.

Will sighed. "I actually thought it was safe."

Powerglide shook his head. "I told you."

The MP3 player was among a collection of random small electronics Sector Seven had experimented with. These were the few that didn't immediately "go bonkers", as Banachek had put it, although they had been kept under careful supervision as a precaution. Lennox had been given the MP3 player in an attempt to see if the small creature would be receptive to the Engilsh language. For a day and a half it had been fine.

Will carefully folded the unconscious creature's limbs so he could hold it in one fist, then he headed across the floor of the hangar toward an office, Powerglide following him. He asked the mech, "What do you think set it off?"

"The fact that it's inferior technology, just as I said before? Or maybe it didn't like being called 'cute'."

Will shook his head, not amused. He walked into the office, leaving Powerglide to lean over and peer through the doorway. "Eugene, got another dud for you."

Eugene Breckstein sat up straight at his desk, looking away from his computer. He had finally broken the habit of saluting his former captain, but showing respect was ingrained into him. "Which one is it this time?"

Lennox presented the mp3 player. It was awake and had transformed back to its alt mode. It emitted tiny beeps, almost sounding afraid. Powerglide heard it and called from the doorway, "Sorry, pal, you blew it." He cocked his head as it beeped in different tones. "It's saying it doesn't know what came over it. It heard something that said Will was an enemy, then it lost its self control."

Breckstein scowled. "There's no way a subliminal message could penetrate these walls, they're built even more defensively than Hoover Dam."

"Unless something got in," Powerglide suggested, thinking of a warning he had recently received from Ratchet.

Eugene moved to stand up. "But we have extra sensors--"

"Sensors, shmensors." Powerglide waved a hand past the door. "Sector Seven brought me in here and that did them no good. Human technology is now going to be toy puzzles for the Decepticons. If you--"

_"Hey,"_ Eugene interrupted sharply. _"That's_ why one of your guys is helping not just ARROW but the whole government fortify our systems."

Powerglide tilted his head again. "So I heard, but I don't know the mech personally. I'm sure he can help, but you can't count on it to hold up alone."

Will threw a glare toward the doorway and said sharply, "Powerglide, if you have suggestions for augmenting our security, go ahead and tell us. If not, interview our poor friend here to see if he can give us more clues." He walked over and placed the mp3 player into Powerglide's outstretched hand. "Eugene--"

Breckstein shot to his feet, standing at attention. Will sighed. "At ease. I'd like to talk to Tom about the rest of the sparked machines. We can't keep waiting for something to go wrong. We have to _help_ them." He cast a pointed glance toward the doorway.

Eugene slid back into his seat. "As it so happens, he wanted to speak with you, too -- well, several of us, but he named you team leader. The message is here if you want to look. Meeting's at three o'clock."

Will checked his watch. "One hour. Maybe he'll have it free. Thanks." He walked out of the office and headed for the elevator. Powerglide had taken a seat beside the doorway and was regarding the mp3 player with new consideration.

After reaching the next level of the facility where Tom's office was located, Lennox ended up waiting in the hall until a few minutes before the meeting started. When Tom emerged from his office, Will followed him and explained about the mp3 player. As they entered the conference room, Banachek said, "I'll see what can be done about the ones that are left. Personally, I think we should send them all to Autobase where they will be better understood." Lennox nodded at the double indication. On one level, the Autobots knew how the devices functioned as robots. On another, they knew about being_sentient_ robots.

The team Will was to lead was small. It included himself, Breckstein, an agent from New York named Lawrence Wrunker and another from Oklahoma, Steven Markhail. Banachek sat at the head of the table and patiently waited for them to be seated. "All right, everyone," he said as the lights dimmed and a large screen on the wall behind him lit up. "You are all familiar with the target so hopefully this will go smoothly." Will raised a questioning eyebrow but then the profile and full face photographs of a man with thick brows, dark curly hair, and a bored look came up on the screen.

"Simmons?!" Will burst out, unable to help himself. He managed to hold in his laughter and judging from the grins around the table, everyone else was amused -- except Banachek. Will cleared his throat and reined in his amusement. "Sorry, sir. I assume this is due to his continued MIA status?"

"Yes," Tom replied. "It's become a matter of security. There have been no signals from his badge and there is concern that he might have been found by the Decepticons. While we all know how little a threat Reginald poses, they might have ways of getting Sector Seven information out of his head." There was no humor in Tom's tone despite his words. Every member of ARROW knew well that science fiction was far too close to the truth than anyone ever expected.

"You'll start your search in the area surrounding his home." A map replaced the photos and Tom traced a circle with a laser pointer. "Check at the grocery store where we've had hits from his badge. If you find any evidence that he unwillingly -- or willingly -- had contact with Decepticons, report in. If he has, we pass this on to the Autobots."

A general round of "Understood, sir" went up. Lennox studied the map as the other three left.

"Questions, Will?" Tom asked.

"No," Lennox replied with a sigh. "I just wish that knucklehead would realize he's not invincible. But I don't think he would be careless enough to get involved with the 'Cons. Maybe he has his own plan to hide from them."

"Maybe." Tom seemed to chew on that thought for a moment. "Either way, we still need to find him."

"May I have permission to contact the Autobots directly if we find unquestionable evidence of Decepticon involvement?"

Banachek hesitated, studying Will, then he nodded. "Yes. If the situation turns out to be critical, the sooner they're on the scene the better." He shook his head. "But I'm sure they have_other_ things to do than extract Reggie's sorry backside from trouble, like figurin' out where the Decepticons disappeared _to._ Some people are takin' the quiet as a sign that they accepted their defeat and slipped off the planet to cower elsewhere in the universe. Me, I'm just waitin' for the shoe to drop."

Lennox nodded solemnly. "At least we're better prepared for them now. But I hope they realized we're not pushovers and will just not mess with us."

"Yes, we can always _hope_ so."

* * *

The message came up labeled as _low priority, may view later,_ but Optimus accessed it right away. Things were quiet at the Ark and all he had to do that morning was wait for Prowl to confirm that his team had arrived at their destination. The message was from Ironhide and asked for a video conference, again stating that it could wait until Prime had free time. Given that he was currently just sitting in his office reviewing overhead patrol reports from the SkySpies, he had the time.

"Huh," Prime uttered out loud, sending back a notice that he would be ready any time. He closed the SkySpy feeds and waited for an incoming line from Autobase. Within a few seconds a window came up displaying Ironhide's face, his optics dimmed.

Optimus felt himself grow wary at that look. "Good morning, Ironhide. What is it you wish to discuss?"

The warrior appeared to shuffle from side to side. "I would like to take leave, sir."

Prime's optics brightened in surprise. "Really, now?" He sank back against his seat. "Just you, or you and Chromia?"

"Just me, sir."

Optimus didn't chide him about being too formal, knowing this request was difficult for the warrior. "For as long as I have known you, you have never once taken leave."

Ironhide grunted an affirmative.

Optimus held his gaze for several moments, watching Ironhide shuffle again. He knew what his answer would be but he automatically weighed consequences and processed contingency plans. Finally he spoke with warm sincerity, "You have earned as much time as you need, old friend. You are free to depart when you see fit and return at your own choosing. We'll be waiting when you get back." He didn't feel that he needed to ask for details, nor did he want to. Wherever Ironhide decided to go was his business. "And we will be here if you need us."

Ironhide saluted. "Thank you, si-- thank you, Optimus."

* * *

Robert Epps watched the lines of protesters who paced the sidewalk beyond the tinted windows of his Buick Enclave, his hands tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. There were dozens of police officers scattered throughout the area but it wasn't a fear of violence breaking out that worried him most, it was what they were protesting. Most carried signs with the word _Autobot_ on it, some circled in red with a diagonal line through it, others with extra words such as "Go Home", "Are Not Wanted" and more. One had a large boxy figure standing on a smaller stick figure accompanied by the phrase "Don't Tread On Me". Another one, which had caused him to choke on bitter laughter, read,_"These_ aliens are definitely not wanted!" Then there was the "America for HUMANS" sign.

He sighed and picked up the handheld radio. "Tailor Ten, this is Walker One. All quiet in the East Lane. What's your status?"

The agent watching from the other end of the street beyond the crowd answered calmly, "This is Tailor Ten. Ditto on West. We have kids on skateboards, but they've been out for ten."

Epps translated the message to mean some not-so-peaceful-looking protesters had shown up but were sitting away from the other group, and had been doing nothing for ten minutes. He hoped they stayed that way, but he braced himself for a confrontation. "Roger, Tailor Ten. Walker One out." He put the receiver down and sighed again.

"Troubled, Bobby?" came a different voice from the radio.

"I keep thinking this will be the one time, T.B., the one where it all hits the fan. Screaming, cursing, shooting, burning...I'm expecting a warzone. And, y'know, that scares me. I've seen war. These people have no idea."

"I have to agree," Trailbreaker replied softly. "And I'm not saying that from a Cybertronian point of view, but as someone who was accustomed to being a civilian."

"Mm-hm." Epps nodded, staring out the window. "I don't wish the details of combat on them, but they need their eyes opened to _real_ fear."

"But they are afraid. Of what's different."

"Well, they got no idea how alike you guys and us really are." Bobby sat up straight when he saw two young men roughly shoulder through the line. They didn't carry signs, but one of them was holding something red in his hands. Epps grabbed the handheld. "Tailor Ten, Finance Five, this is Walker One. Suspicious activity on East Lane. Keep your heads down. Walker One, out." He lowered the speaker and glanced out his side window before opening the door, gaze immediately going to the two young men. They were milling amongst the line now, receiving the occasional irritated look from the protesters who walked past them. "Can't even get along with each other," Bobby muttered as he got out of the car. He carefully closed the door so it wouldn't make any noise then he stepped up onto the sidewalk, giving his suit jacket a tug.

One of the young men looked right at him and elbowed the other, who pressed a button on the red object. It emitted a piercing sound that made Bobby shudder. It reminded him of the noises Scorponok had made.

Everyone in the area either went still in surprise or turned toward the source, except for one woman who screamed and broke away from the line. A police officer quickly went to her aid. The young man holding the red tape player intoned, "And that is what you will hear only a second before they _get you._ They sneak among us and we don't know _where_ they are or when they will strike."

Bobby came to a halt in front of the young men and held up his badge, turning to show the nearby protesters. "Robert Epps, of the Cybertronian Ambassador program. You two _do_ understand that this is an authorized peaceful march, and your actions are infringing on the law-abiding protesters here."

The second man sneered. "Ambassador? Are you in league with them?" He backed up and spread his arms. "They use such weird sounds, they could be brainwashing us! They are alien technology, they could be implanting devices to keep us malleable to their cause!"

The one with the recorder started to turn, waving the device. "Even THIS could be one of them."

Epps gave a signal to the police, two officers slowly making their way around to the back of the lines in case the two men became any more rowdy. Bobby had guessed their game, however, when a man carrying a sign lightly tapped his arm. "Is it true that they eat metal and will devour our cell phones?"

A woman near him called out, "I hear they can make other vehicles transform. Will all of our cars be taken over?" Others crowded closer to ask questions, separating Epps from the instigators. He left it to the officers to catch them; it was his job to answer the questions, which he did calmly.

"No, they don't eat metal and they have no interest in your phone. Only the artifact they came here to retrieve could animate machines, and it has been decommissioned. They only scan a vehicle's form, they don't actually become the exact vehicle they see." On it went, with the majority of people being reasonable and even drifting back into their organized line. Their questions may have been answered, but that didn't mean it changed their minds.

After several minutes Bobby was feeling positive about the incident, glad to have cleared things up for some of the people. Yet then a man near the edge of the group yelled out, "They're huge! How many of our natural resources will they need before they simply take them all and use everything up?!"

Epps sighed, disappointed that the inevitable disruption had come. He turned in the direction of the voice. Something in his stance -- or the air of military precision he gave off -- made the people nearest to him give him some space. He spoke calmly. "They understand more about energy efficiency then we've learned in thirty years. They already operate on renewable energy sources."

"Yeah?" the guy shot back, "And which would those be?"

"Solar, for one example. They can--"

He was cut off by the same man before he could explain. "But if they copy our vehicles, they would need to power themselves with our fuel! Our gas shortage is bad enough!!"

Bobby made a subtle sign to another officer. "They borrow the image of our vehicles. They still run on their own power sources."

"What if _we_ want to harness _their_ energy sources for _our_ usage?" the man demanded. "What would they say to that?!"

Epps took a breath, exhaling through his nose as he thought over his response. The fact that the Cybertronians were alive due to their sparks was not meant to become general knowledge. The man's words brought an image to his mind of an Autobot hooked up to a power station -- a prisoner. He had to dismiss his initial reply, realizing it could be used as anti-Autobot propaganda. He slid into military mode again, now seeing that this had been exactly that type of verbal trap from the start. "Then we would talk with them and cooperate on an answer."

"How are they paying for the resources they're using?!"

The rest of the protesters were moving away from the man, having the sense to know he was pusheing the limits of their march. Epps now faced down a tall but stout balding man in a tan coat whose round face was red from his exclamations. Bobby remained where he was, standing at rest while he planned to button hole the situation. "There are talks for them to teach us about energy efficiency."

The man snorted. "A way for them to control us."

Bobby adjusted his stance slightly, hands remaining behind his back. He longed to put the man in his place but knew the choice words and actions he wanted to use would be frowned upon by the higher-ups...not to mention damage the entire point of the protest.

"So is _your_ vehicle one of them?!" The man suddenly pointed at the Buick.

"No," Epps lied without hesitation. Trailbreaker was his assigned partner and he needed to protect him. The Autobot would switch car types yet again when the time came to reveal himself. This protest was not the time, and this man was only instigating -- and failing.

"Prove it," the man taunted. "I bet you would stop anyone who tried to smash it."

Bobby gave a tight smile. "Sir, I would do so to prevent a waste of government property. Which would be a federal offense. Are you implying you would do such a thing, to either my property or any other citizen's property? That encroaches on this march, too."

Two officers came up beside the man. He cast them dirty looks, then put his hands in his pockets and stomped off down the street. Epps nodded and the officers followed him, acting as escorts away from the protest area.

Bobby waited several minutes to see if anyone else would have questions, but the march went on quietly. He returned to the Buick and sat down with a sigh, closing the door then muttering, "I miss fightin' battles with guns and tanks."

**To Be Continued**


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, everyone! -hugs- I'm so glad to know people are still interested. I'll add in answers to the new questions as I go along.

* * *

** Renewal - Part Two**

"So, you're going on leave," Ratchet said with all the concern of a shopper checking a grocery list. "Did you give any thought to energy reserves and recharge?"

"Parking lots. There's plenty of them."

"And the former?"

Ironhide glared at him. "You know why I'm going in the first place. I don't have to say it."

"Which is exactly why I'm mentioning it. If I know you, you won't rest regularly. I have an idea for a modification that could let you avoid that inconvenience." Ratchet smiled, but the warrior appeared uncertain.

"What are you going to modify?"

For all his optimism a second before, Ratchet flashed a reluctant look. "Your cannons."

Ironhide took a guess. "So they'll absorb outside energy to power them, rather than take energy from me?"

The medic shook his head. "No. They will become energy absorbers for_ you,_ and no longer be weapons."

Ironhide gaped at him, vacillating between outrage and shock at being purposely bereft of weapons.

Ratchet put a hand on his shoulder. "You are out to remove that side of yourself, are you not?"

Ironhide slowly cycled some air out, his gaze lowering to his left arm. Then he nodded. "But such an integral part of my systems... What impact will that have?" He looked up again, his tone serious.

"To your systems, very little. To your reflexes, probably more -- but only if you cannot control the urge to shoot something. But, again, that is not your purpose." Ratchet paused. "But if you do come across anything suspicious, report in to either of our bases or to Epps."

"Of course. But what if I have absolutely no choice but to get involved?"

"Then you make sure it does _not_ come to that," Ratchet said grimly. "Worst case, you will still have your strength. I can also reverse the process when you return, if you decide you want to be so armed by then." He waited patiently, fully expecting an angry protest to kick in at any time.

To his surprise, Ironhide sat down on the near workbench, clasping his hands in his lap, although feeling over his knuckle joints a second later. "Explain it to me."

Ratchet slowly sat down beside him. "You really _are_ serious about this, aren't you?"

"With all my spark. What of it there is, anyway."

* * *

A day and a half later Ratchet was at his usual post in the med bay going over a scheduled upgrade for Rhythm and Blues when Chromia walked in. "You wanted to see me, Ratchet?" 

"Yes." He smiled over at her. "I merely wanted to thank you in person for being such a good influence on our weapons specialist."

Chromia stared warily back at him. "And what does _that_ mean?"

"He and I had a civil conversation about converting his weapons for a more mundane purpose."

She stalked across the floor until she stood over him, hands on her hips. "So it was _your_ idea? Did you think at all about how much you just cost us in offensive capabilities?! This isn't the time to be disarming ourselves!"

Ratchet lifted a brow ridge in response to her vehement tone. "It was ultimately _his_ decision, you know."

She huffed. "You should have known better, Ratchet! _How_ do you expect to reverse it if he's halfway across the country from you? Of if there is a battle, and how _quickly_ you could reverse it? Besides, he is only going on leave, _not_ retiring!" She was leaning over and glaring right into his optics by the end, her fury plain on her face.

Ratchet kept his gaze steady, not giving in to her rage. "It was his decision," he repeated quietly. "Have you spoken to him in depth about it? Obviously you found out about the modification. He _is_ doing this for you, after all."

Her optics darkened as she stepped back, then she scowled, growling, "I didn't _ask_ him to do anything like _this."_

"He is doing what he thinks is right," Ratchet said, quieter still. "This is what he _can_ do, what he thinks can solve certain...issues."

"He -- he doesn't _need_ to do it. We will be fine..." Chromia finally revealed her own uncertainty.

Ratchet stood, keeping close to her instead of moving to where there was more space, and clasped her upper arms. "It is worth a try, Chromia. I do not have any medical advice I can give either of you -- no one ever took the time before the war to study this because there was no need to, and when everything went to the pit, well, no one had _time_ to study the long term effects of spark scars. I know how to keep one from going offline, but I do not know how to seal the gaps."

She heaved a sigh and gazed at the floor. "That doesn't _change_ anything about he and I. It...It is not important that we could..." Her voice trailed off and she cycled air loudly in resignation.

Ratchet watched her, silent, letting her take her time with her thoughts. He had said all he could on the matter and now was ready to be a supportive friend.

Chromia's features began to take the form of another scowl. "Still...you did not _have_ to ruin his cannons. What was wrong with an energy-gathering pack?" She removed his hands from her arms, her optics narrowed, and then turned and stalked out of the bay.

The medic sighed. "I thought he would be the most annoyed, but she is instead. They never cease to fascinate me."

"They are like Yin and Yang," commented Thundercracker as he stepped out from the back of the bay.

"Pardon?"

"One of the subgroups of humans believe in a pattern they call 'yin' and 'yang'. Light and dark. Heaven and Earth. Positive and negative. Fire and water. Male and female. They are opposites but always in balance with one another." The Neutral leaned his hands on the table, gazing toward the doorway. "Ideally, to these particular humans, it represents perfect harmony."

Ratchet regarded the empty doorway. "Hmm. Between the two of them, perhaps, but not the rest of us."

"You expected an argument, did you not? Now that you have received one, you feel more comfortable -- more in tune, more balanced -- about the situation."

Ratchet turned to study him, looking him over with approval. "You are becoming quite the philosopher. Is this information gathered as a hobby, or is human culture providing some insights?"

Thundercracker shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "All culture is insightful. I have been reading accounts from various planets thanks to the access you gave me to your files."

"I am pleased to hear it was of use to you. Tell me, how would you like to begin training as my assistant?"

Thundercracker blinked at the abrupt change of subject, then hunched his shoulders. "I don't know. Would being _your_ assistant not make me an Autobot, compromising my claim of neutrality?"

Ratchet shook his head. "You do not need an allegiance to become a healer. All you have to do is care about life. You can think about it if you want, I am not in a rush. How about for now you tell me more about that 'Heaven and Earth' concept?"

* * *

For all the activity in Tidal Wave's cargo-turned-repair bay, it was astonishingly quiet. None of the usual discussions amongst the Constructicons about the best ways to do things were being carried out. Hook had made the plans based on their resources and everyone was following it to the letter. Megatron's melted and dismembered body lay spread across the floor with piles of spare parts nearby, slowly being converted and adapted to replace the Decepticon leader's arm and leg. His chest had been a tricky matter. Hook had removed the main surviving components of it and was working on it separately elsewhere by himself. 

Naturally, Soundwave was the only one to have access to that room. He watched Hook working diligently through a tiny monitor on his wrist. He would not risk anyone coming into the comm room to see the progress.

The sound of banging metal and an angry shriek made him flick the cover over the screen and turn around. He gazed at the two small mechanoids who entered the room.

"You call _THIS_ an upgrade?!" Rumble demanded, gesturing -- rudely -- at the slightly taller and much more chunky Frenzy 2.0. "He don't even transform into anything anymore!" Frenzy let out a garbled cry._"And_ I can't understand a word he says! What language is that supposed to be?! Even English would be better! Whatever happened to plain Cybertronese?"

Frenzy uttered what sounded like an electronic burp.

Soundwave calmly watched them both. "Submit to an upgrade, then you will understand."

"So what about the rest 'a yas? Or can _you_ understand him!?"

The light behind Soundwave's visor narrowed to a thin line.

"Oh, yeah, look who I'm talkin' to." Rumble shrugged, rolling his upper optical cameras. "Still don't help _me."_

"Submit to the upgrade."

Rumble pointed to the screen behind Soundwave that showed the whole repair bay. "The builder boys seem kinda busy right now. I don't wanna end up like Dirge, hangin' around 'til someone remembers he's got his inner housin' showin'. An' his armor melted off. An' a pathological fear'a cannons. Good job there."

Frenzy smacked Rumble in the back of the head. Rumble's optics flashed in warning, then he jumped the other mech. They went tumbling across the floor in a pile of sharp edges and flailing multiple limbs. Soundwave put one foot out to stop them -- by halting them in place under his heel and slowly lowering the rest of his foot. Frenzy disentangled his four arms and scrambled away.

"Rumble, you will cooperate."

With his head pinned to the floor, the small mech could do nothing but growl out, "Yeah, fine. Sooooorry."

Soundwave let him up. "You have no reason to be concerned. Your upgrade was a natural assumption given Frenzy two-point-oh."

"I just wanna know the _plan_ first. What're we gonna _do_ with this mudball planet?"

"Wait."

"For _what?!_ I don't think even Megatron is gonna want it for anythin'. We should just blow it up. No one's gonna miss it." Rumble walked around as he talked, avoiding both Frenzy and Soundwave's foot.

"It will be _Lord_ Megatron's decision." The comms officer emphasized their leader's title.

"Yeah, _if_ he can be brought back."

"Correction:_ when."_

"Mighty positive thinkin'. Did you _see_ that hole in his chest? Must'a burned his spark up on contact. I'm as loyal to Megatron as the next Decepticon, but, c'mon, you can't deny he got thrashed." Rumble walked behind a console in case someone decided he needed to be shot. The thought wasn't going to stop him from voicing his thoughts. "An' you know Starscream ain't gonna be happy to find out what we've been doin'."

The small mech went stock still, as did Frenzy, when Soundwave began to laugh. It was made all the more chilling by the echo from his battle mask. It was also his only response to Rumble's last comment.

Fortunately for Rumble one of the monitors switched to a comm window displaying Hook's face. "Soundwave, I need you in the primary bay."

"Acknowledged," the comms officer replied with no hint of his former amusement. He cast a sharp glance at Rumble, then headed for the elevator. As soon as he was gone Frenzy grabbed Rumble in a headlock and began to press against his eyestalks, pushing them in the only direction they couldn't go.

"Get off, you freak!!"

Frenzy kept his hold, snarling for a moment, then he spoke clearly. "Autobots have key _and_ the power. You need power, and _we_ need key." He abruptly released his hold.

Rumble threw off the four arms as soon as Frenzy's grip began to loosen. He backed away, hissing, raising his own arms for an attack. He checked himself. "Don't start with that 'key' nonsense. That was already a bust. An' the Autobots ain't got no _real_ power. As for me..." His optics flashed dangerously. "I just need that shell rebuilt. Y'know, something that _don't_ put my spark on the line." He straightened his frame, trying to utilize every strut to gain height. "What's it to _you,_ anyway?"

"I have...plaaaaannss."

Rumble's multiple optics darkened to a reddish-purple. "Now wait a sec! There ain't no way you could go behind Soundwave's back, so don't you mean _he_ has plans?"

"Do you want to end up like Scorponok?"

Rumble draw back at the implications, then narrowed both main pairs of optics. "Is this a test'a my loyalty? 'Cause if it is, you better shut up now. Like I'd be stupid enough to cross anyone around here!"

Frenzy laughed, a mad giggle. "Don't worry. I merely want you to pay attention."

* * *

Soundwave entered the small workroom that Hook had designated as "primary", his attention immediately drawn to a screen with a radar-like reading on it -- except the center was the only image updated as it blipped. He took a moment to study the irregularities in the circle's edge. He emitted a subtle jamming signal that would distort any conversation despite how the room was already secured against eavesdropping. "His spark -- it is still online?" 

Hook, standing by the open spark chamber on the table, gave him a sideways look. "You doubted?"

"No. I merely expected complete stasis, but the activity here illustrates otherwise." He pointed to the uneven outline of the circle, then watched as the update traced the contour of a round bulge. Soundwave peered over at Hook. "Abnormality detected."

"His spark is online -- or, _something_ is online." They traded quick glances, knowing of Megatron's forbidden habit. "I have not come to an absolute conclusion yet. So far it appears that his will is prevailing. I am certain the_ anomalies_ are going to be put down by the time I finish repairs."

Soundwave nodded, looking over the exposed but barrier-protected spark chamber before turning to look at the discarded casing beside the table. He felt a sense of awe at the destructive power of the Allspark. Yet, it was clear that the power could not have been harnessed in the end, for it destroyed the Cube itself. A shame. To find an enemy in such condition...

He paused and recalled the image of Megatron when they had first pulled him from the water. The Cube, so important in giving life, had taken it from the great Decepticon leader. It was a waste of the Allspark's energy, and a loss that would have repercussions -- disregarding that it could be reversed. With Megatron's spark still functional all they need was a shell. A worthy shell.

The monitor beeped a long, low alert as it recorded another bulge. This one was larger than the last. Hook muttered something and rushed to the opposite side of the spark chamber. Soundwave turned and watched with the surgeon as the spark within brightened to white, a jagged section rising and pressing up against the stasis barrier. Hook made some adjustments. The barrier went from blue to red as the spark surge continued to push at it.

Soundwave took a large step backward but Hook was too busy to notice the other mech's open shock. There were shapes and moving dark spots within the energy surge. Soundwave watched, fascinated and horrified. He _almost_ lost control of his nerves when the straining shape twisted and_looked at him._ But his visor and battle mask allowed him to glare impassively back at it.

The barrier flashed brightly and in that second the bulge receded. Once the spark was smooth again the barrier went back to blue. Hook and Soundwave looked at each other silently until the Constructicon circled the table to input data on the console behind Soundwave. Once there he hissed, "Not a word of this outside of this room!"

Soundwave nodded. Hook's own shock was evident, for he normally would know the communications officer was the best Decepticon to keep secrets and the warning need not have been spoken. He would remain unaware that Soundwave had recorded the entire incident.

"His will shall prevail," Hook murmured. His attention became riveted to a readout scrolling on the screen in front of him. Soundwave followed it for several moments before leaving the technicalities to Hook. He understood enough to know that things would go horribly wrong depending on the conditions when Megatron's spark was placed in his new body.

"Certain measures must be taken," Soundwave said with authority. "We will ensure the direction he takes."

Hook paused to glance at him. "We _do_ have a spark to spare."

Soundwave nodded again. "Not a word outside of this room."

"What about Motormaster? He will certainly notice if..."

"Leave him to me."

"Acknowledged." The contention among the higher officers was none of Hook's concern, but it made his job all that more important. He was fine with that.

"Are there any other details you wish to inform me of?" Soundwave flicked a glance toward the rest of the equipment.

"Not at the moment. I will send you updates on this situation, as well as the progress made by the others." Soundwave gave one more nod, closing down his jamming signal. He stepped out of the room, waiting for the door to lock before walking down the short corridor to the main cargo hold. There he made recordings of the current progress and doings of the other Constructicons on his way out.

* * *

"Nice night." 

Chromia looked for the source of the voice, wondering why Broadcast was in the guard tower at that time of the evening. Not seeing him right away, she returned her attention to the junkyard. "Something I can help you with, Broadcast?"

He jumped down from the narrow overhead rafter. She had expected him to pop up anywhere and was not surprised when he landed on her shoulder. "Nah. Just wanted to take in some night air from a good view."

"I am not a viewing platform." She twisted her head to eye him.

"'Course not. But you look like you could use some company." He smiled.

Chromia looked straight ahead again. "Actually, no. I would prefer to be alone."

"I'm thinkin' otherwise."

She shifted slightly. "Broadcast, do you see that tree there?" She pointed to a shadow at the other side of the junkyard.

"Yeah, why?"

"Would you like to be wrapped around it? Because I can _easily_ arrange that from here."

Broadcast leaned over far enough to pat her upper arm. "Easy, Lady C. I didn't mean any offense."

She grunted. "No. You are being nosy, just like everyone else! First Ratchet, now you -- mind your own business!"

"Hey, don't forget Arcee. She knows, too."

"Hn." She rotated her shoulder joint, almost jarring him loose.

Broadcast leaned back, casually hooking his fingers under her shoulder plate to keep his perch. "Y'sure you don't wanna talk?"

"Very."

"Okay," he replied in a smooth croon. "S'up to you lady-lady. Sometimes it's all right to just enjoy the quiet night."

"Hn. Broadcast, do you have anything important to say to me as base commander? If not, please let me continue my shift alone."

"Actually, I do." He stood up on her shoulder, using one of the blunt projections on the side of her head to support himself. "When you're up here, do you ever get the feelin' you're bein' watched?" He peered upward, brightening his optics until he illuminated the roof's overhang.

"That would be the problem, wouldn't it?" Chromia asked in a calmer tone than she was using earlier. "We know they are out there, but are they still watching us?"

Broadcast suddenly lit up his LED screen into a blinding white, casting the beam down onto the junkyard. Something very small leapt out of the pool of light that reached a bare spot of ground. Broadcast then turned it off.

Chromia narrowed her optics. "Another bug?"

"I think so. Noticed a couple nights ago. I keep hearin' discordant notes among the crickets. I don't think they like this uninvited, unnatural neighbor."

"I hope the Decepticons are enjoying the lot of nothing we are doing here." She switched to an internal secured comm frequency. "How much do you think they know?"

He replied back on the same internal line. "Not a whole lot. They might just be keepin' tabs on where our forces are at."

She rumbled unhappily. "They are going to find out that Ironhide is leaving. Should we try to catch it?"

"Not unless we can track it. I didn't see what form it's got exactly, but it's around that Bombshell's size. Easy for it to hide an' hard to tag it if we can't find it to begin with. It's got a cloak of one kind or another. All I can try to do is pinpoint it by sound. But if one of us goes out there it'll know what we're up to. We need someone small an' unnoticeable, but I can't use R an' B 'cause I'd need to focus on the noise."

"How about someone it won't suspect is tracking it?"

Broadcast settled down on her shoulder again, maintaining the internal discussion. "Like who?"

"Like humans who could be innocently looking for bicycle parts. Find a way to remotely instruct Sam while he and his friend Miles search the yard. Miles does not know we are here, and the Decepticons may assume we are still keeping our secret from more of Sam's friends."

"Worth a shot. Worst case, the bug eludes 'em. I'll talk to Ratchet about that remote contact." He slid off her shoulder, landing in a crouch on the floor, then calmly stood to stroll off. He waved one hand, talking out loud. "Later, Lady C. Have a good night."

"Good night, Broadcast." She turned to watch him leave. When she looked back at the junkyard, she increased her audio receptor range and began to study the singing patterns of the crickets, waiting for that discordant note.

* * *

"Broadcast wants me to _what?"_ Sam stared at Bumblebee's dashboard, confused at the request. 

"Help find a bug in the junkyard," the Camaro repeated.

"Bug in the junkyard, needle in a haystack, same thing! That could take forever!"

"It's a mechanical bug, somewhat larger than the average organic insect, if that helps."

"You're_ somewhat_ larger than the average bee."

"Well, I am not a Decepticon. This one is."

"Lovely. Okay, so I call up Miles and tell him I need help finding a part so I can fix my bike. He's going to wonder why I'm fixing my bike when I have a perfectly good _car._ He isn't _that_ stupid."

"Your mother's bike then."

_"Neither_ bike is actually broken."

"I can arrange that."

There was entirely too much glee in Bumblebee's voice for Sam's comfort. "All right, all right, I'll do it. Mom'll kill both of us if we purposely break her bike."

"You can also tell Miles you are selling your bicycle. You can put those on eBay too, right?"

Sam grumbled about being able to put cars up for sale even if they talked.

**To Be Continued**


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: I'm preparing to move out again, hence the delay on this chapter, and RL will probably continue to delay things for a bit. Please stay tuned!_

* * *

**Renewal**

**Part Three**

"Man, this is gonna take _forever!_ Why can't you just buy the part from a store?" Miles stared around at the piles of junk, unsure whether he wanted to even step closer or pick something up to throw at Sam. "There must be a zillion wrecked bikes in here."

"Because it's cheaper than buying it at the store. And it's good to get some fresh air." Sam was already poking around, moving over a stack or two as instructed by the voice coming from the headphones hanging around his neck. "C'mon, Miles, we might find something cool to add on and make it even better."

"You have _lost_ your mind." The other boy sighed then started looking, although not putting much effort into it.

Sam ignored the comment. At the same time he felt guilty for deceiving Miles. When the ban on contact with humans was lifted he owed a major explanation.

_"It's by Miles,"_ Broadcast suddenly hissed through the headphones. Sam tapped his pocket quickly, hitting the button on the disguised receiver that signaled an acknowledgment.

"That's great," Sam muttered through clenched teeth. Miles was the unwitting decoy. He wasn't supposed to _find_ the bug.

_"Now it's closer to you. Sam, keep on it."_

He tapped the button and shuffled sideways, pulling out random bike parts and pretending to study them while actually trying to get a glimpse of an insect in between everything else.

_"Should be close."_

Sam wished he could reply. He didn't _see_ anything even vaguely insect-like under, around, or inside the haphazard piles of junk. He tapped the button twice to convey as much.

"Hey man, check out this freaky bug."

Sam sat up, head back, imploring silently at the sky. Over the headphones came a, _"Well, sh—"_

"Huh, let me see?" Sam stood, brushing off his jeans, and meandered over without appearing to be in a hurry. The other boy had his hands closed over something. He grinned slyly when Sam crouched beside him.

"Check it out." Miles slowly moved his hands apart. Sam didn't see anything at first, but then Miles moved one hand in quickly, and the insect was revealed -- it was blending with its background color more skillfully than a chameleon.

_It's a 'Con all right,_ Sam thought to himself. He tapped his pocket three times.

_"Get the jar,"_ Broadcast hissed.

At the same time, Miles called, "Find a jar -- gotta be one here somewhere."

"Yeah." Sam scrambled up and again pretended to look, while putting his hands right on one of several mayonnaise jars he had stashed in places the morning before while the bug had been following Arcee around, spying on her as they had hoped. "Found one!" He jogged back over, glad the bug had been near one. He knelt and quickly scooped the insect into the jar. It immediately turned all gray in color with two pinpoints of red on its head. Sam clamped the lid down before it could move to jump out.

"Wicked grasshopper." Miles stared into the jar. He then grinned. "What should we do with it?"

Before Sam could make a suggestion, a voice growled, "Hey, you kids! Get out of my yard!"

Sam jumped despite himself and whirled to look at the tall, reedy old man coming toward them. He gulped to keep from laughing. _Someone_ had watched the wrong TV channel to get an idea for a hologram. He assumed they had seen _Monster House_ or some other cliche spooky movie. "Oh, uh, sorry, sir," he stammered. "We were, uh, just trying to find a part for a bike, and--"

The jar was snatched out of his hand. _"This_ doesn't look like a bike part! Get out of here! Now!"

Sam nodded and grabbed Miles, who was staring, by the shoulder. As he dragged him away, Miles blurted, "I swear I've seen that dude on_Scooby Doo."_

The man chuckled as soon as they were out of earshot. When it appeared they had left the vicinity, a random pile of junk stood up and Thundercracker took the jar from his ultra-saturated holographic human. "That was fun. They never even saw me come out here. Thank you for the distraction." He held the jar up to one optic as he addressed the bug. "But don't get any ideas. I am not on_your_ side, either. You are intruding, so I decided to be a good tenant and help with a pest." He lumbered into the base, closing his hand around the jar with enough force to almost crack it, more than willing to imply he would crush the spy without hesitation.

Broadcast leaned out of the comm room door as he heard Thundercracker come down the hall and gave him a thumb's up. The Neutral grinned, not exactly a friendly sight, but Broadcast understood his intent. Thundercracker then continued on to the med bay. "Delivery," he rumbled when he walked in. Ratchet gestured to a spot on one of the tables cleared for the occasion. The Neutral set the jar down with meticulous care.

The Insecticon within immediately kicked the side of the jar with its hind legs, sending its prison rocking forward toward the edge of the table. Ratchet's hand shot out to catch it. "You just earned yourself an incapacitation." He released part of his right arm's tool array, using a set of forceps to unscrew the lid while an electric pulse laser hovered ready to dart inside as soon as the lid was off. The laser tip jabbed against the insect and overloaded it on contact. Ratchet replaced the lid and frowned. "Hmm..."

"Are we going to interrogate it?" Thundercracker asked, crouching to peer into the jar at table level.

"No. I want to get into its database without worrying about it escaping. If we can find where its signal is going, we might get an idea of where the Decepticons are hiding." Ratchet suddenly glared at the jar, his instruments alerting him to a vibration from within it. He grabbed it and dropped it into another container just as the jar shattered. "Charming. Resistant to common human materials, and not susceptible to that particular dose of electrical overload."

"They have added some features since you captured Bombshell," Thundercracker noted.

Ratchet sighed. "Which you would think I would expect by now." He began to pick through a bin of spare parts. "Soundwave needs a new hobby."

"Hello!" Bluestreak called as he walked in. "I hear we have a new guest. Maybe we should start putting up signs to invite them in. It might be more effective and save some time and energy." Thundercracker moved over to let the gray Autobot have a look inside the container. "Wow. That is _small._ They shouldn't be allowed to make Decepticons that tiny, don't you think?"

Ratchet harumphed. "Size does not stop it from being deceptive."

Bluestreak nodded. "So I heard from Broadcast. It can mask its outgoing signal and blend with the color and texture of whatever it's standing near. Except glass, it seems." He looked up and grinned. "That was convenient."

"Hopefully not _too_ convenient." Ratchet opened a line to the comms hub. "Broadcast, let Prime know of our latest guest. I will commence a study to find out what this one knows. Tell him to be on alert. Who knows how many of these Insecticons could be out spying."

* * *

"Prowl, someone is following you," Firestar warned over the group frequency. The four Autobots had been traveling along a northern California highway toward an emergency call, none of the humans around them stopping or questioning a highway patrol vehicle leading a firetruck and a sports car labeled as "fire chief". They assumed the helicopter that made repeated passes over the highway was simply in communication with the vehicles as per formation.

Sometimes the ignorance of humans was a blessing. However, Firestar suspected that the one following them was not in that category. She stopped keeping pace with her teammates and flew ahead toward the location of the wildfire. "They are matching you mile for mile. No markings on the car to indicate they need to be going where we are. All of you, keep your holo-drivers active."

"Acknowledged," Prowl replied. "Inferno, multiply mode."

While it had been a vague assumption before, the firetruck now clearly appeared to have three different men inside its cab. "Gotcha, Prowl."

"Sirens," was the next order. All three turned on their lights and sped up.

Red Alert adjusted his sensors to pick up the human's car. "Vehicle not accelerating. It appears the driver will adhere to the law."

"Good," Prowl replied. "We will assume it's a traveler until proven otherwise."

"And if it isn't?" Red questioned. "What if it's a Decepticon?"

"We see what it does, and deal with it without transforming." Prowl slowed, letting the other two pass him.

_"Without_ transformin'?" Inferno sounded disappointed. "How do we defend that way?"

"I agree," Red Alert said, his tone wary. "That seems ineffectual, and we should not encourage the humans to try such stunts."

"Correct. I merely want to show the Decepticons that they can't trick us out of hiding," Prowl explained. "I reviewed the previous incidents and I believe they will continue to use that tactic to expose us."

Red Alert raced ahead of Inferno. "While I don't mean to question your decisions, Prowl, I must admit I don't feel comfortable with the plan. Only specialized humans have the ability to adapt to our presence -- ours and the Decepticons. I suggest that you factor in that element."

Prowl went silent as he considered Red's words. "You are correct. Take care of the fire. I will deal with our tail." He braked and turned, blocking the road while the other two hurried onward. He switched off his siren, waiting only a few seconds before a red compact car came in range of his scanners. The windows were tinted so he couldn't get an image of the driver, but it registered as a human without doubt. Prowl had his holo-driver prepare to step out when the car approached -- although equally ready to chase him down should he try to drive around him.

Fortunately, the red car halted a few feet away. The driver stepped out and Prowl decided it would be polite to do the same. His holo-driver was a non-descript brown haired man, standard uniform and sunglasses. He offered a tight smile to the red car's driver, whose hand went to his shirt pocket then jerked back with a quiet curse -- which Prowl easily heard.

"Sorry for the sudden stop," the pseudo-cop apologized. "Got an uncontained wildfire up ahead. I need to stop people here and wait to see if the road is clear."

The man had sunglasses on and Prowl wasn't certain where he was looking, but the human did nod, scratching at his dark, curly hair. "Yeah, stopping people before the exit is always good, so they can get off and back on the highway again." The man's voice and somewhat stilted manner of talking registered to Prowl's memory bank, matching data he had input from Autobase's files. He kept the information at the front of his processor, debating how to confirm it. "Usually," the man continued dryly, "The blockade happens after the exit so we're all _stuck_ until the road ahead is clear. Glad to see someone has consideration."

_Why would officers purposely hinder the people like that?_ Prowl wondered to himself. He had his holo-driver look sheepish. "Sorry. I can't speak for other officers."

The man smirked very briefly. "I suppose you can't."

Prowl's driver stepped closer. "I couldn't help but notice you were checking your pocket. Did you think I was stopping you and needed to see your license?" He chuckled to show he was joking around; just all part of the disguise.

"I was looking for my badge. A reflex born of old habits, you might say."

"Oh. Well, I apologize if you are also an officer. I haven't met everyone in the area yet."

The man smirked again, leaning in to whisper, "You need to study more. Your dialogue stinks."

Prowl's driver drew back. "I beg your pardon?" At the same time his internal computer gave an alert. _Voice print match confirmed._ The holo-driver gave a tight smile. "So, which department is that badge of yours from?"

"One that doesn't exist anymore, but your _buddies_ are familiar with it."

The holo-driver went stone faced as Prowl dropped all facade of a friendly human. "Reginald Simmons, there is currently a search for your whereabouts being conducted by the ARROW organization. You have failed to report in and your absence has incurred suspicion."

The man tore his sunglasses from his face, revealing angry brown eyes. A scan of them completed the computer's match. "Suspicion of _what?_ I got kicked out but they wanted to keep tabs on me -- what, did someone think I was going to blab about all the crap Sector Seven uncovered? That was my _life!_ Like hell I'd spill to _anyone_ about it!"

_Hypersensitive in response to accusations. Yet I need to make one more inquiry._ "What about the grocery pattern? We have evidence that you were attempting something."

Simmons snorted in disdain then laughed. "That? That was nothing."

"It did not work, you mean."

The human shrugged. "So? Are you going to haul me in for that? I'm sure you've already alerted someone to my _whereabouts,"_ he added sarcastically.

"Actually, no. I haven't. I would prefer if you told us willingly. We were concerned that you had been captured by the Decepticons."

_"You,_ or the government?"

"All of us. According to the accounts, you were just as much a hero to the cause at Hoover Dam as the soldiers in Mission City. We would like to consider you as an ally."

Simmons gave the hologram a flat look before glancing past it to the police car, then he looked over the hologram's left shoulder before his eyes fell to the imitation badge. "Let me ask you, Mister P. Rowl -- maybe I don't _want_ all the recognition and responsibility that may come with those ties." He spread his arms out in an exaggerated shrug. "Sure, I'm grateful that everyone considers me a hero, and I'm touched by your concern for my wellbeing." He placed one hand over his heart, then flung it outward again. "But _maybe_ I don't want any part of it. _Maybe_ I want to be left alone..." He lowered his voice. "...to do things _my_ way."

Prowl's holo-driver frowned. "That is your prerogative. However, for your own safety you should have reported in. For a while there was reason to believe the Decepticons were hunting for any of the humans involved with us, and they still have reasons to be looking for Sector Seven members, former or not. Just because you would not purposely tell them anything does not mean they would not find a way to get the information out of you."

Simmons scowled, folding his arms over his chest. "I'd like to see them try."

_"I_ don't," Prowl said firmly. "Whatever has you feeling so confident will not last once you are in their clutches. Do you still not have a complete file on what they are capable of?"

"On the contrary..." Reginald smirked and took a CD case from an inner jacket pocket. "I think I know plenty more than you."

"Such as?"

The human's smirk grew. "We call it _N.B.E. One."_

Prowl's holo-driver did not reflect the surprise in his voice. _"You_ found the Decepticons? _How?"_

"I have my ways," he replied smugly. "Question is, will anyone believe me since I've been so disobedient?" Reggie feigned a pout, looking down as he turned the CD case over in his hands.

"This is a matter of not just national security, but _world-wide,"_ Prowl said, his tone severe. "We will investigate any leads you can offer. The Decepticons endanger this entire planet wherever they are hiding."

"Escort me to your ship, and I'll show you how to access the data on this CD." Reggie glanced up, grinning slyly.

"My team is currently on a mission. Can one of us access it with our personal processor?"

"Nope, I want to be the one at the keyboard."

"Then you will not cooperate? I'm disappointed."

The human shrugged. "I'm not looking for _your_ approval."

"What about that of your government, and the gratitude of your people?"

Simmons shot the police car a frank look. "Don't forget it's _your_ government, too. Just because you've got the fancy guns doesn't mean you don't have to follow the laws. Sticking to the speed limits, I hope?"

"Of course," Prowl replied, wondering where the human was going with all of this. He knew he should send a message to ARROW, but was waiting for further information from Simmons so they would know what else to expect from him.

"Do you also know the one about impersonating an officer?"

"We have been given permission by the President to do what is necessary to remain under cover."

_"Because,"_ Reggie said with another smirk, "No one else needs to know how many giant alien robots are running loose on our planet. Well, some are giant. Did you know the 'Cons have _two_ of those freaky little Frenzies?"

_"How_ did you find them?"

"Intuition." Simmons tapped the side of his head. "You get a sense for these types of things after working around alien artifacts and scientific mysteries for years."

"I see." Prowl's holo-driver looked past Simmons toward the two cars that had just pulled up behind his. "We should continue this discussion later. If you remain here when I let the others pass, then wait for the rest of my team to return, I will do as you say."

"Good." Reggie reached out and made a perfect show of shaking hands with thin air. "Even if you still have the disadvantage of knowing my name. I _know_ I can't call all of you 'N.B.E.-insert-number-here."

"My designation is Prowl. I will introduce you to the others when you can see them and associate name with form."

"Riiiight." Simmons laughed and put the CD case inside his jacket then strolled back to his car. He pointed over his shoulder as the other drivers gave him questioning looks. "Wild fire up ahead. Officer says to sit tight."

* * *

Lennox couldn't believe his eyes when he and Markhail walked into Reginald Simmons' apartment. He had never expected it to be so...pristine. Reggie had struck him as the type of bachelor who didn't care a whit about dusting regularly, but there it all was, coffee table spotless, sink empty, floor vacuumed...in short, no evidence of his status in sight.

"Steve, check the bedroom." Will pointed to the back of the apartment as he glanced through the kitchen. There was a small amount of food, all non-perishable. He had a sinking feeling before he even opened the refrigerator. As he had expected, there was no food in it; instead he found several oddly-shaped rocks and a half-dozen unidentifiable electronic devices. "Well, the weirdness was hidden but it's still here."

"There is _plenty_ in here," Markhail reported from the bedroom. "Check this out. I'll bet you've never seen this many maps."

Lennox closed the fridge and slapped a bright pink piece of tape on the front before heading for the back room. He stopped short in the doorway. "Where does he _sleep?"_

The bed, the dresser, the floor, the end table -- and, of course, the desk -- were layered in maps of all kinds. States, countries, continents, labeled aerial photos, topographic, and more. Steve, standing carefully by the desk, held up one depicting the Earth's climate regions. "I'm actually hoping we _don't_ find one labeled with Areas One through Forty-nine. Is your impression that he's a collector, or should we start sorting them by type?"

"Let's start sorting. Looks like this will be the only clues we have unless there's something else hidden in here." He glanced around the room, noticing that aside from the maps everything else was clean. "He hasn't been here in a while and I don't think he'll be back soon."

"Pick a corner, any corner," Steve joked. He scooped up an armful of maps off the desk. "I'll organize them in the living room."

Will nodded and went over to the dresser. "Question is," he pondered out loud while flipping through the maps there, "why did he clean everything else and leave this a mess?"

"Maybe it's always like this," Steve offered on his way out. "Maybe he sleeps on the couch."

"Nothing would surprise me." Will gathered up some maps and carried them out, helping Markhail set up the first few piles then returning for more. By his third trip he was seeing a pattern. "The majority of the focus is on the arctic, the Pacific, and the Atlantic. How many _Areas_ does that cover?"

"Too many for my comfort. The Bermuda Triangle, the Devil's Triangle, the Iceman discovery..." Steve glanced from one set of maps to another. "Maybe Reg was working on a theory. Who knows what the influence of either Triangle was back then. Could be a reason Megatron's internal instruments were thrown off and caused him to crash. We still don't understand their effects, so no reason why they wouldn't affect Cybertronian technology."

"Think he hoped a flight to Miami?"

"As you said, nothing would surprise me. We'll find out if he charged tickets to anywhere when Eugene calls with the trace on his cards."

"Which should be anytime now." Will studied the topographic maps while Steve went back for more. "C'mon, Simmons, you _had_ to have left something obvious..."

"Hey, Will? If he went to Miami, he forgot his scuba gear." Markhail stepped out of the bedroom holding a wet suit on a hangar in one hand, a pair of flippers in the other. "I guess wherever he went it wasn't by the coast."

"But at least he might have a _normal_ hobby." Lennox inspected the wet suit for telltale dirt or damage. What he did find was a Sector Seven logo. They traded disparaging glances. "Keep looking around. I'll work on the maps."

Steve nodded and lead the way into the back room, returning to the closet while Will grabbed more pages. He stopped when he lifted the stack and saw one that traced the routes of various aircraft carriers through the Pacific Ocean. Sticking out from beneath it was one marking the same type of routes in the Atlantic. He pushed the stack aside and pulled out the two, placing them side by side. His gaze was drawn to the lines that centered around the Laurentian Abyss. He swore quietly. "This had better not be what it looks like."

* * *

As she walked up the ramp to the garage entrance, Arcee reviewed the data Ratchet had sent to her on the captured Insecticon. Based on the tips Rattlelatch had passed on to the medic to get at the information, they found the bug was designated Kickback and, like Bombshell, had been spying on them -- but hadn't learned anything that wasn't already plain to see. Her concern was that it would escape inside the base and _gain_ the data it was seeking. Ratchet had so far ensured that it remained under lock and key.

She halted when she heard a conversation in Cybertronian. She leaned around the bend just far enough to see that two bots stood inside the entrance, backlit by the dawn. She stepped backward, not wanting to intrude or unintentionally eavesdrop. She then heard a quick clatter of metal and an electronic trill followed by a soft rumble. Then came the sound of one of them transforming and then an engine revved before the vehicle drove away. Arcee stepped around the corner and walked up to the entrance without a word.

"You are late," Chromia said critically.

"I thought you two would prefer to be alone." The smaller femme glanced at her from the corner of her optics, mouth forming a small smile.

"He would have bid you goodbye as well. You've done him proud."

Arcee allowed her smile to broaden. While it had been a long time since she had to wait on Ironhide's approval, she always held her mentor in high regard. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No."

"I thought for sure you would end up going with him."

Chromia shook her head, her face stoic.

"Where do you _think_ he will go?"

The other femme lowered her gaze to the ground, this time with a thoughtful look. "I don't know," she answered quietly. "I may be older than him, but I don't claim to be wiser. He will go where he feels he needs to."

"Well, as long as he returns," Arcee offered cheerfully. "There are many interesting things to see and learn on this world."

"As long as he returns," Chromia repeated, raising her optics to the sunrise.

**To Be Continued**


	5. Chapter 4

_Author's note: I live! Sorry for the delay, I've been chipping away at writer's block for the past several months. I apologize if the next few chapters are sub-par, I'm still trying to get my writing groove back._

**Renewal - Part Four**

"What do you two think you are doing?" Ratchet demanded upon walking into the back of the med bay to find Thundercracker and Bluestreak sitting by the holo-table, images of three sparks hovering above it. He recognized all of them and went over to hit the button to deactivate two of them. "This is for medical use only. Neither of you have any business ogling Ironhide's and Chromia's sparks."

"We were curious, is all," Bluestreak said. "Thundercracker mentioned it to me and we started talking and then decided to use some visual aid. I didn't think it would cause any harm. But it's interesting. And it isn't like we would hold it against either of them."

"I should_ hope _not," Ratchet replied sharply. He tapped in a command and brought up the file on Bluestreak's spark. A jagged green line circled its entirety. Bluestreak looked away. Ratchet merely frowned. He then glanced from one spark to the other. "So, what did you want to know?"

Thundercracker eyed the image of the third spark -- his own. It was a darker blue than the others and was pitted with reddish-violet marks. "What _is_ the difference between joining and merging sparks? The Decepticons never used such words. Only _stabilize, terminate,_ or _save it for Megatron."_

Ratchet shuddered. "Well, since we have an example already..." He removed the images of their sparks and pulled up the previous two again. "In the case of joining or merging, the sparks first need to be compatible. Ironhide and Chromia are just one example because they are mates. They have already joined sparks, hence their ability to link up and create new additional armor or weaponry together." He brought up a wire frame video depicting the fight with Dirge in Oakland that used battle data for the simulation. "Sibling-sparked mechs can do this as well, but in their case it is because they started out as one spark."

Thundercracker tilted his head. "I hadn't heard that one before."

Ratchet nodded. "They are rare. Sparks do not usually split, but every once in a while there will be an excess of energy that creates an additional individual. It is also possible for unrelated sparks to be joined in a sibling rapport for the advantages I mentioned earlier. However, they cannot _merge._ Only compatible mates can do so."

Bluestreak nodded to the images. "Does that mean Ironhide and Chromia are not completely compatible?"

"No, they are. It is just that..." Ratchet hesitated. Further information was on the confidential side. He trusted Thundercracker to keep it to himself, but he worried that Bluestreak would unintentionally blab during his penchant for rambling. He tried to think of the best way to explain it to prevent that. "...There is more to it than our science can define. There is a limit to a spark's power when it is scarred." He gave Bluestreak a measuring glance; indicating the younger mech's own issues might make him keep the information to himself.

Bluestreak nodded, humbled.

"So, what happens when sparks merge?" Thundercracker asked.

"A variety of things. Energy and data exchange, a strengthening of the bond between the two individuals, a new spark." Ratchet included the last in an off-hand manner. To his relief they both merely nodded along and didn't catch the last reference, sparing him from questions about consequences.

"Hmm," Thundercracker murmured, "So what did Megatron get out of absorbing them?"

Ratchet rumbled, seething at the thought and not hiding his disgust. "A depraved power trip." The two looked at him in shock, not used to hearing him speak in such a tone. He didn't apologize. "It is one thing to terminate a life. It is another thing altogether to deny a spark its final rest. _No_ being has that right."

Bluestreak shuddered, hands tightening on his folded arms. Thundercracker merely watched Ratchet, meeting the medic's gaze. Ratchet watched him in turn, almost expectantly. The Neutral understood and said quietly, "There are examples in human culture that express a principle of the path of enlightenment that involves being reincarnated -- reborn as another type of creature, human or otherwise, as defined by their social structure. The soul -- or spark -- is the same, but must learn various lessons in order to ascend to the next level when they die. When they have ascended far enough they reach true enlightenment. Megatron denies his victim that final step."

Ratchet nodded slowly, wondering at Thundercracker's source material. "Hence why he was more than just a threat to the universe as a conquerer. Again, there is a difference between conquering and _devastating."_

Bluestreak abruptly stood and walked around to the other side of the table, halting by the shelves and studying their contents. "Say, Thundercracker, what happens if they don't learn the lesson they needed to? Do they simply not die until they do, or are they reborn as the same person?"

"Like all organics, they die at the end of their fragile lifespan," the Neutral explained, "If they did not learn, they are reborn as something at the same level. If they did not learn and became _worse,_ they will be reincarnated as something lower in the social structure."

Bluestreak turned and blinked. "Humans have...interesting concepts about life."

Thundercracker smiled -- or tried to. "There are literally billions of different cultural beliefs in the universe. Obviously _you_ did not make a study of them, but someone in your fold did."

"Hey," Bluestreak protested, "I'm a fighter, not a scientist. Not that I'm _not_ interested in studying, but I'm usually busy doing other things."

Thundercracker chuckled briefly and added, "Besides, humans _all_ likely think _our_ culture is strange."

Ratchet turned off the holographic display. "Of course they do. Other than a laptop computer or a flip-phone, they have never had transforming technology, and their artificial intelligence programs are shaky at best. For many of them, sentient machinery is a thought that shorts their processors."

"Meanwhile," Thundercracker said, "We consider them to be technologically inferior. Quite a cycle. I am sure it has occurred on other planets."

"Only when we stopped long enough to take in the local scenery," Ratchet said. "Following a potential lead, having vehicles to copy." He stopped and tilted his head, typing into the holo-table keyboard. An image of the schematics for Rhythm and Blues appeared over it. Ratchet reviewed the super structure, then zoomed in on the powercore area. It appeared he was having an internal discussion with Broadcast, for he rotated the image, examining a few important transformation relays and nodding occasionally. Then he closed it down.

Bluestreak was the first to ask, "What was that about?"

"Just something Broadcast and I have been working on."

"When are you _not_ working on those little bots?" Bluestreak asked, glancing at the empty table.

"When I am not working on _him."_ Ratchet pointed at Thundercracker, a good-natured gleam in his optics.

Bluestreak grinned at the Neutral. "Did you pick an alt mode yet?"

Thundercracker tapped the edge of the table with one finger. "No. I actually seemed to do well imitating a pile of scrap."

"You can't stay that way forever." Bluestreak headed out of the room. "I have a shift coming up. I'll be on the lookout for more bugs."

"Do that," Ratchet mumbled as he brought up yet another set of schematics on the table. These were of Thundercracker's entire system layout. "You do need the armor for it, but given the last supply inventory from the Ark, I have enough material to give you the rest of the mass your frame can handle. Do you have _any_ idea what type of alt mode you would prefer? I merely need a template to build up your body, then you can scan whatever you like in that size category. Given that you are taller than me when you stand straight you have numerous choices."

Thundercracker leaned to the side until he could see into the front room and make sure it was clear before he replied, "I was hoping to delay this for a little longer. I...need to admit my reluctance to leave the vicinity of Autobase One. A good number of humans can tell the difference between an Autobot and a Decepticon. I still resemble the latter and especially fully armored I know there are mannerisms I won't have shed. It will take more time to...change."

Ratchet nodded. "Understood. Still, you might as well begin preparing for that time. You can also rescan something else later."

Thundercracker thought for a moment then stood and went over to the side computer to open a video file. "There is a certain type of jet used in a popular airshow. I would like a change in paint scheme, too..."

* * *

"Secretary Keller? You have a call on line two from a Mister Ron Arcstrom."

John Keller regarded the call box on his desk with a raised eyebrow, then picked up the phone and hit the blinking number two button. The only Autobots he ever expected calls from were Optimus Prime and Trailbreaker. "Good afternoon, Arcstrom. How can I help you?"

"Hello, John. I need to call on a favor," Ironhide replied. "Do you have any agents free who are overdue for a cruise? I need a solid escort temporarily while I'm on leave."

"On leave?" Keller wondered at the implications when the Autobots were still working on the Ark issue. "Do you have clearance for this?"

"Yes. I intend to remain in suit at all times, or at least as necessary to continue the cover operation."

"All right. I'll see what I can do. Do you have port details yet?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Ironhide sank low on his struts as he felt the swaying motion of the ocean liner through the cargo hold's floor. He was anchored in place like the dozen other vehicles around him yet was the only one that could appreciate the relaxing pitch of the ocean. He relegated his worries about leaving not just Autobase but also the United States to a subroutine at the bottom of his processor. There was no turning back now.

Well, not without contracting a case of rust from sea water. He had never been fond of swimming since he tended to sink like a rock.

The trip would take over three weeks. All that time with nothing to do except think. It had been centuries since he had taken as much time to focus on himself. He hadn't even thought of _that_ before, he had simply gone about his function with the Allspark recovery programmed in as the end result. Now, with the reality of Earth as a home settling in and Chromia returned to him, his processor had moved on to other things.

He _was_ concerned about the Decepticons and several times had almost cancelled his leave, himself. They may have been weakened without Megatron and had already suffered a second defeat on Earth, but he wasn't going to count them out for good. However, the loss of the Allspark kept coming back to him, reminding him of his age and the knowledge that while Cybertron's fate was sealed, there was still hope for another generation of their kind to be born. One that could be free of the conflict.

To _be_ free of the fighting... He had discussed it with Ratchet before, soon after the battle for Mission City. He knew he was excellent at his function but he wanted to be more than just a walking weapons platform. He had long feared that it was so hardwired into him that he would never shed the impulse to fight. Ratchet had been right to suggest disabling his cannons. It was the first step. Next he had to remove the psychological impulse, and for that he needed to find a place where he would be least tempted to fight.

Chromia was different from him that way. She had chosen to become a warrior and had learned to become the best. He had been built and programmed for it from the very start. Such was one reason he was on this journey alone. It would have been easier with her along to see the things he would otherwise miss, yet that defeated the purpose.

He hadn't told anyone, but shortly after the Ark had crashed he had begun looking at Earth's remote regions for ideas. One place in particular caught his attention, a continent between the Pacific and Indian Oceans known for its rugged outlands. The trick had been finding a way to _get_ there. He was glad no one had come across him while he was researching. He had told Ratchet and mentioned a few things to Chromia and of course to his commanding officers as well, but aside from them he hadn't wanted anyone else to know until after he left -- if even then. He hadn't wanted to be teased before he left, and didn't want anyone to bring it up when he returned; if he succeeded, that was his business. If he failed... he didn't want to be reminded of it. For the time being he was incommunicado with Autobase and the Ark to avoid prying questions on the way.

* * *

Huffer released an annoyed hiss of steam from his side vents as he held the adult human aloft for the other Autobots gathered around Teletraan-1 to see. "Found him in corridor C-one-eight. I said I didn't want to be disturbed, and I _meant_ it."

Red Alert looked about himself. "But I had been watching -- I was certain he had not left my side!"

Despite his awkward position, Simmons folded his arms and smirked. Or partially folded his arms, since he was being held by the back of his jacket.

Optimus sighed. "Reginald, I agreed to let you into this base regardless of its state of disrepair. I would appreciate if you didn't take it upon yourself to find your way around. Especially when your counsel was the topic of our debate."

"Sorry, it's a habit. I see alien stuff, I want to look at it and document it." Reggie's tone was perfect Sector Seven nonchalance.

Red Alert was mortified. "That does not give you the right to walk off on your own!"

Prowl also glared at the human from where he stood beside Teletraan-1. He tapped a button on the console and a smaller version of the monitor and keyboard slid out from the front of the machine. "Your disk and the access code you promised..?" he hinted.

Huffer put the human down and nudged him toward the console then set his feet to block the way out of the room. Simmons tugged his jacket into place, walking calmly toward Teletraan-1 as he took out the CD. "Now that's nice and convenient. Planning to have more humans using this equipment?" He glanced up at Prime.

"Do you remember Frenzy?" Optimus asked in response.

"That little freakazoid?" Reggie snorted. "A pushover."

"Autobots come in that size, too." Optimus glanced pointedly at the scaled down keyboard. "Now then, you have information on the Decepticons. How were you able to find them when our advanced equipment could not?"

Reggie smirked. "You were apparently using the wrong advanced equipment." He took another object from inside his jacket, this one square and resembling a piece of plain foil wrap.

Huffer gave a start as soon as the object was in the air. He leaned over, extending a tiny clamp from his wrist and taking the square from Simmons before the human could blink. The clamp rotated as Huffer brought it close to his optics to scan it. "I _know_ this tech. _Where_ did you get it?"

Reggie hid his annoyance and leaned on the small console. "You guys _do_ know you're not the only aliens to visit Earth, don't you?"

"Obviously," Huffer replied. He turned to Optimus. "In the Falxerne System my team met a non-robotic bio-engineered race of scientists who had created a microscopic pulse generator that rendered anyone in contact with it completely undetectable by sight, sound, scent, radar, infrared -- you name it. And they _were_ more advanced than us, for being organic creatures." He cast a sidelong glance at Simmons. "Talk about something falling into the _wrong_ hands."

Reggie made an exaggerated shrug, arms spread wide. "Finders keepers, losers weepers. I told you S.-Seven was my life. I collect weird stuff."

Prowl frowned. "So that was Sector Seven property that you took when you left."

"No," the human answered indignantly. "It's mine. I _found_ it. With how long I've been studying aliens I know where to _look."_

Prowl's tone was still accusing. "So instead it's something you didn't report to Sector Seven. Isn't that against the rules? Since you like to quote them to others." Simmons scowled up at him.

Huffer peered at the square again. "How much of this did you find? A sample this small isn't much good to anyone."

"Enough to fool the Decepticons. Do you want to see this, or what?" Simmons held up the CD.

Prime motioned to the console. "Please, go ahead." Meanwhile, he opened a private frequency to Huffer. _"Check his vehicle. Be subtle."_

Huffer nodded, adding a, "Hmm. I wonder how long this was here. Mind if I analyze it?"

Simmons didn't bother to look at him, busy with his own security pop-ups. "Knock yourself out."

"Riiight," Huffer replied, slipping quietly away to the Ark's improvised entrance. Meanwhile, the others moved closer to see what Simmons had on the disk.

A list of video files came up on Teletraan-1's main screen. The human clicked the first one. A visual of choppy gray water appeared, the camera bobbing in time with the waves. A rasping voice came next. "This is Reginald Simmons...Bit of a swim to get over here, but the suit's working fine. There's two jets flying around but the boat's cover worked, too. Good thing, because if they didn't get me, _this_ guy might." There was a splash, then the camera moved closer to a large, dark shape in the water. "Zoom in," Simmons' voice said quietly. The dark shape resolved into the rear of an aircraft carrier. A painted name sat just above the waterline, reading _TIDAL WAVE._ "Not one of ours. Or Her Majesty's. So, what's it doing out here? Let's find out, shall we?"

The file ended. Reggie clicked on the next one. The camera opened on a shot of the carrier's deck near the control tower. "That was close. Just avoided a flying rat." The video continued on through a doorway and down a stairwell, then on to some scaffolding. The angle shifted to a view of Simmons' gloved hands clinging to a crossbeam as he crawled along it over a room studded with viewing screens. A large gray and white robot stood in the middle of the floor looking down at his left arm.

One of the Autobots cycled air in a gasp when he realized the mech was Soundwave, and that Simmons had dared to sneak around right under his olfactory sensor. The recorded human didn't seem worried. When he reached the center of the scaffolding he pointed the camera to each of the screens below. One showed a room with two small mechanoids who seemed to be arguing with each other. Another showed a training room where a panther-sized and -designed mech was sparring with an avian-type robot. Two screens showed empty hallways. On another the view seemed to be through curved glass; it showed a blond-haired young woman having an animated conversation with an overweight, dark skinned young man. Still another showed the tarmac of a military base. The largest screen held a view of a cargo bay containing five industrious robots working around a larger, familiar frame.

"No," Prime uttered, horrified.

The camera shifted straight down to view Soundwave's wrist, zooming in on the small screen there. A robot built like the other five was working around an open spark chamber.

"By the _Allspark..."_ Red Alert whispered. "Are they _insane?_ Do they truly expect to resurrect Megatron? His spark _had_ to have burnt up!"

Before anyone could respond, the video cut off with the sound of a loud clatter reaching the microphone. The third file opened to a view of Reggie's face, soaked with either sea water or sweat. "If they're doing what it looks like they're doing, we're going to need a whole lot more ammo this time. Good thing I kept that vintage flame thrower. I counted fourteen of them, including the ship. No one's going to tell me _that_ isn't also one of them. I'm going to stick around for a while. If I get out of here again, I'll let you know." The camera cut out.

Simmons turned from the console to regard the gathered Autobots, clasping his hands behind his back. "I have their coordinates. What do you plan to do about this?"

Optimus, looking grave, cycled some air in thought. He glanced at Prowl, then said, "Send those files to Ratchet so he can verify what is happening with both Megatron's body and that spark -- we have no way of knowing if that even is Megatron's actual spark. If it is, we need to stop them. Based on Ratchet's conclusion I want to organize a strike team. The Stunticons were in none of those security feeds, and we don't know if the Combaticons have made planetfall yet."

Simmons raised his eyebrows, hiding his sudden discomfort. "How many does that make, total?"

"At least twenty-five," Prowl said grimly.

"And...how many of you?" Reggie glanced around.

"Sixteen available on short notice," Optimus replied.

Simmons sighed loudly. "Guess I should call in the pros."

Red Alert, suddenly furious, pointed an accusing finger at the human. _"You_ call in the pros? This needs to be brought to the attention of John Keller and Tom Banachek immediately!"

Optimus reached past him to hit a button on the main console. "Teletraan-1, open a message to ARROW headquarters, priority level urgent."

"Hey--!" Simmons protested, turning to glare at Prime. He then cast an awkward glance at the screen as Banachek's face came up in a video window. Then he found himself level with Teletraan's transmitting camera as Optimus picked him up.

"Tom," the Autobot leader announced, "We have found your rogue agent. _He_ has some information you need to see."

* * *

Ratchet and Perceptor reviewed the video of the Constructicon's work for the umpteenth time. The image had been refined and separated from the rest of Reggie's files. Ratchet had enlisted Perceptor for a second opinion on the spark core segment. Everyone else had been banned from the med bay, including Thundercracker.

Perceptor made a displeased noise as he used his onboard instruments to magnify the readouts on the screen in Hook's workroom. "I cannot confirm beyond doubt the possibility that it is Megatron's spark. We can only assume, due to the question of _where_ they could obtain another spark that they would then dare to place in their revered leader's shell."

"That is what I keep coming back to," Ratchet said. "I checked his body, myself, before the humans dumped it. There was no residual spark energy, nevermind a spark. Only leftover radiation from the Cube."

Perceptor replayed the file again, slowing the frame rate and analyzing a particular section. When he was certain of the input, he pointed to the spark chamber, then to one of the readouts. "See, there? A fluctuation in regard to the variety of energy wavelengths. What do you make of it?"

Ratchet squinted, studying the readout, then the spark chamber. "Hmmm..." He didn't speak again for several minutes as he ran through his internal records of spark activity. Then his optics brightened, wide with realization. "He _did_ have time to... And it would explain why..." He didn't complete either thought, leaving Perceptor to stare at him, waiting, as the medic's optics became distant. He was about to tap Ratche'ts arm when the bulkier mech snapped back to the present.

"We need to get to that spark. Getting past their defenses will be difficult, but I have an idea." He turned to a second console that displayed data Huffer had sent about the Falxernian sample as well as the full body suit that the engineer had confiscated from Simmons' car. "I'm going to have Tracks pick this up so you and I can have a better look at it. I think we can make use of this given the assessment Huffer has made so far. I have the perfect subject to use it on." As Perceptor looked on, Ratchet pulled up a file on an F-18 Hornet.

* * *

"I'm going to _kill_ him!" Lennox stormed into Banachek's office, having gone straight there after Eugene told him of the news from Autobase. "Who does he think he is?!"

Tom wasn't at all surprised by the reaction. Will and Reginald had continued to be at odds since their first confrontation with each other at Hoover Dam, and although Will usually made light of the trouble Reggie's absence caused since then, Tom knew the moment would come when Lennox would be genuinely angry. This was it.

While Will may have adapted to his new position in ARROW, he wasn't very far removed from his Army command mode, either. "I'm enlisting Powerglide to rendezvous with the Autobots right away. I'm taking Simmons into custody and acting on that data. Give me clearance on the anti-cyb guns."

Tom thought out his answer for five seconds too long. Lennox stepped up to the desk and planted his hands on its surface. "I trust Ratchet's analysis. We're talking about a possible resurrection of _Megatron. You_ knew him as a popsicle, _I_ led a team against him in a battlefield. We've been preparing to fight the Decepticons if we had to. It's sooner than we hoped, but it's here. Lift the locks and let's get to it!"

Banachek nodded, standing. "Well, you're not goin' alone. I'll get a team together, but without Powerglide for now. Just one thing, Will. You handle the robots, I'll handle Simmons."

"Sold," Will responded, his face grim. "But I'll take what's left of him after the court martial so I can give him a piece of my mind."

* * *

Broadcast settled back in his seat as Chromia joined him in the comm room. He gestured to the second chair but she shook her head, stepping up beside him and folding her arms across her chest. They both looked to the main screen, ready to start a video meeting with Optimus Prime and Prowl. The latter appeared to be weary, the likely cause of it sitting within view of the camera -- Simmons, looking entirely too smug for his own good. Broadcast raised his optic ridges. "Thought this was chiefs an' tacticians only?"

Optimus cast a glance downward. "Reginald wishes to aid us with his insight on the Decepticon's operations."

Broadcast lowered one optic ridge in a questioning expression, then shrugged. "Okay. Let's hear what you guys got. Prowl?"

"Based on what we know," Prowl began in a cautious tone, "This will not only be an infiltration mission but also a rescue mission."

Chromia and Broadcast both gaped at the screen. The boombox started to say, "What--"

Prowl cut him off. "Ratchet has a theory, a morbid one but it's something we're going to take a chance on -- if _you_ are willing, Broadcast."

"Me?" Autobase's commander gestured to himself. "Why didn't Ratchet mention it in person? I'm right up the corridor."

Optimus inclined his head. "It was my decision. I had to be sure of our course before telling anyone."

"So, what is it?" Broadcast glanced quickly from Optimus to Prowl. "What in the universe could link me to the resurrection of Megatron?"

Prowl dimmed his optics. "Ratchet believes there is a possibility that the spark of one of our own is partially responsible for the reinitiation of Megatron's spark due to the proximity of Cube energy and the fact that this Autobot's spark was tied into that energy because of..." He paused for the right words. There really were none. "Because of Megatron's recent consumption of that spark."

Broadcast's jaw mechanisms went slack. "Jazz."

Prowl nodded. "Ratchet suggested that we use the download feature you two have been discussing for Rhythm and Blues to try to extract Jazz's spark from the possible conglomerate of Megatron's spark. We have only one shot at succeeding, however, and this is all still in theory. You--"

"I'll do it," Broadcast interrupted. "An' don't ask 'are you sure', 'cause yeah, I'm sure. He's my brother. I didn't have a choice but to accept it when I got here an' found out, but if there's _any_ chance of bringin' him back, I'll do it."

Optimus remained silent, pain clear in his optics. Prowl nodded solemnly. "Very well then. The plan calls for a seven member team to disrupt the Decepticons at Tidal Wave while the rest of our available forces guard our bases. They have flyers so they could easily spring a retaliatory attack on us. Prime is leading the infiltration team. Broadcast and Thundercracker will do the initial infiltration, Arcee and Bluestreak will be long range defense, Ratchet will aid with Rhythm and Blues, and Firestar will evacuate Broadcast, Rhythm, Blues, and Arcee should we succeed. Firestar will bring them straight to the Ark where Moonracer will be our standby medic. This means we need Ratchet to help Huffer finish setting up the Ark's med bay.

"I will take coordinating command at the Ark with Huffer, Gears, and Windcharger for defense. Red Alert and Inferno will go to Autobase as protection. Perceptor is to continue work on the shard, but if anything happens Tracks is to be prepared to evacuate the shard and Chromia to evacuate Perceptor. Chromia is to be acting base commander."

The femme uttered a displeased sound. "While I understand the importance of protecting Perceptor, I must insist on joining the infiltration team."

Prowl shook his head. "No. We need that team as small as possible and it's more logical for Firestar to be the flight-capable bot on the team. You and Tracks are best for Autobase: he can carry the shard in its containment unit in his cab. While using your jetpack you can carry Perceptor in your arms. Neither Tracks nor Firestar can handle him in their alt modes."

Her optics flashed. "Ironhide was part of the end battle against Megatron. I should be there in his place to finish it for good!"

_"No,_ Chromia," Prowl said, voice stern. "Ironhide would not have been included on the team if he was here. I would place him at the Ark. We can't risk this one over emotional attachment."

Chromia's optics flashed again and she looked down at Broadcast, then back at Prowl. Optimus put a hand on Prowl's shoulder at the same time Broadcast stood up on his chair and grabbed Chromia's near arm. "Diff'rent story, Lady C," his warned quietly. "I understand where you're comin' from, but if this goes bad we're gonna need as many warriors as we got waitin' safely on the outside."

After a moment she stiffly responded, "Acknowledged."

Optimus cycled out air, concerned. Chromia had never been one to question battle plans solely for personal reasons. He was reminded of the petty arguments that had been splitting his forces on and off since right before the Ark crash. Deep down he worried that something on Earth was the cause.

Prowl stood rigid. "The previous plan to transport Thundercracker to the Ark for his new armor fitting remains, with Ratchet transferring to the Ark to complete the med bay. Once that is accomplished everyone else will be sent to their designated locations for the main operation. These are direct orders and there are to be _no_ further objections."

"Acknowledged," Broadcast said, his optics dimming in thought.

"What about him?" Chromia pointed to the corner of the screen toward the hitherto silent Simmons. Prowl frowned and the two at Autobase could see he was more annoyed at the human than he had been at Chromia's protest.

**To Be Continued**


	6. Chapter 5

**Renewal - Part Five**

With no small amount of disdain Prowl replied, "He is to be escorted to a safe distance and remain out of harm's way."

Reggie stood up. "Excuse you, but I'm _right here._ You seem to be underestimating me. You need me on the mission, too."

Prowl's faceplates flattened, giving Chromia all she needed in answer to her question. Meanwhile, Broadcast snorted. "Dude, I'm made of metal an' _I'm_ at risk'a bein' squashed durin' a fight. Ain't no way you're gonna be safe if you come along."

"Who said I wanted to be safe?" Reggie made a backward wave with one hand, as if swatting away the comms officer's warning.

Broadcast didn't hesitate a second. "Huh, dumber than he looks." He leaned back, folding his arms.

Simmons glared at the screen. "Why you little--"

"A_HEM."_ Prowl placed one finger against Reggie's back. "We agreed to let you sit in on this meeting for your _input._ Either offer it or be quiet. We are not going to endanger any of our human allies on this mission."

Simmons spoke in a clipped tone. "No, you're just endangering _all_ humans with this mission. If you lose, what then? With the numbers the 'Cons have, they'll take over this planet in no time. Before you do _anything_ else, you should ask yourselves why they haven't attacked already."

"They are waiting to see if Megatron lives," Chromia replied as the answer to that very, previously unasked question came to her. "They want to give him the pleasure of starting a new wave of destruction. The two generals we have confirmed plus Soundwave -- none of them would usurp the throne, and Soundwave especially would do anything in his power to resurrect Megatron. More the reason why _we_ need to mobilize before they achieve that goal. At _that_ point this planet would be doomed."

Simmons looked down at his hands as he tapped his fingertips together. "You don't even consider this to be _your_ planet, do you? The way you speak of it, and of us humans."

"Hey now," Broadcast protested, "We got plenty of respect for--"

"Not _you_ collectively," Reggie interrupted. _"Her."_ He pointed accusingly at Chromia. "You're different from everyone. I can feel it."

Optimus drew himself from his reverie, startled as Bumblebee's comments about Sam and Mikaela came back to him. Simmons had had even more exposure to the Cube than the teenagers. Maybe that was also why he'd had such an easy time getting aboard Tidal Wave, the alien tech he'd been wearing aside. Nothing was infallible as far as stealth and Soundwave were concerned, but if Simmons was giving off an energy signature distorted by Allspark radiation it could definitely have helped him...Somehow.

Chromia snorted. "I don't know what you're on about, Reginald Simmons, but I think you should have other concerns."

Broadcast looked up at her. "Maybe 'cause Ironhide's off communin' with nature you're givin' off the opposite vibes."

Chromia frowned at him. "That doesn't mean I will not protect this planet and its people! And how could he sense any 'vibes' from me when we are not in the same room?!"

Reggie looked amused, as if pleased that he had frustrated an Autobot. "There, you did it again. It's your choice of words and the way you say them, like it's temporary."

Chromia turned and stared at the corner of the screen. Simmons appeared to shift uncomfortably.

Prowl's optic ridges went up. "Perhaps we could discuss Reginald's place in the mission after we have completed phase one. I call to adjourn this meeting."

"Agreed," Optimus rumbled, drawing glances his way now that he had finally spoken.

Chromia folded her arms, her optics dimmed and partially shuttered. A few seconds later she lowered her arms and walked out. Broadcast watched her from the corner of his optics, withholding his comments. Similarly, Prime went silent again until Prowl had picked up Simmons and carried him off screen. Broadcast lifted his chin and stared at Optimus, carefully keeping his own expression neutral while waiting for his leader to determine when he wouldn't be overheard.

"Broadcast--"

"Save it. What else you got for me?" He didn't do such a great job keeping his voice neutral.

Optimus loudly cycled some air. "I'd like you to check in with Powerglide. He might decide to join us."

"But you don't want me to convince him, do you?"

Optimus nodded. "No need. He's a civilian now."

Broadcast shook his head. "There's a time an' a place, Optimus. An' he's a member of ARROW whether he's got the badge on or not. He ain't exactly free to come an' go as he pleases. At least, not unless he joins us. It's lookin' to me like you're either an Autobot, a science experiment, or an invader."

"A blunt assessment."

"Can't help but feel that way. We ain't free, Prime, none of us. The 'Cons're our responsibility." Optimus' head sagged at the words. Broadcast nodded once. "See, you know it. The people here got the will to fight an' they've got some offense...but they can't even take on just the number of 'Cons Reggie verified. We're gonna be lucky if any of the recovery team gets out alive. If we all do, though, what then?" Broadcast dimmed his optics completely. "Personally, I'd rather be one of the humans who ain't got no clue this's all goin' down. Powerglide could only _be_ so lucky to not be a part of this...but he'll end up as the line of defense if we fail."

"Then let us _not_ fail. Make the call. We'll continue preparations here."

"Right. An' while you've got 'im, maybe you should ask Reggie what else he got his grubby hands on. It'd be good to know if he's keepin' a superweapon in his sock drawer."

"Agreed. Thank you, Broadcast."

"For turnin' into a pessimist? Sorry, chief. It's too much of a shot'a reality for me. I got work to do, I'll get back to you. Broadcast out." He closed the line and gave himself five seconds to think before opening a private line to Powerglide's frequency. "Heyya, Powerglide, this's Broadcast over at Autobase One. Just wonderin' if you got time to chat."

"Powerglide here." A video window opened showing the aviator's masked face. "What's up, Broadcast?"

"We've had a chat with one Reggie Simmons. He's been collecting trinkets that don't belong to any locals, an' we were wonderin' if you'd seen similar stuff in your travels."

Powerglide chuckled. "Oh, that guy. What a gas. What'd he find?"

"Dunno if the Falxerne System would ring any bells with you?"

"Mmm...nope."

"Picture a completely undetectable Simmons."

"Sweet Liberty, that's a frightening thought."

"Yeah. So, anythin' you can clue us into?"

"Sorry, nope."

Broadcast was stunned by the finality in the other mech's voice. "'Scuse me?"

"I'm not talking without Banachek's approval. No one here has said anything to me about this yet, and ARROW does have its own oaths of secrecy."

"Heh, I was right." Broadcast leaned back in his chair. "I'd think someone would have spread the word there about the news we sent over earlier."

"Banachek did mention the he had data on some active Decepticons. He hasn't changed my assignment yet, though. I've already got my hands full." His camera shifted and he held up one hand. A tiny robot was dangling from his fingers by a cord. It waved.

"Uhhhh... _What_ is that, man?"

"A surviving Sector Seven experiment. There are several of them that I've been rehabilitating. Showing them the 'Autobot Way', as it were." The focus returned to Powerglide's face, his optics glowing with a cheerful brightness. "Learning experience all around."

"Huh. Yeah." Broadcast began to wonder if he was learning something, too. He quickly filed away the thought for later. "Can they fight?"

"Sure. With each other, with me, with the humans. Unchecked, they're nothing but instruments of destruction. I'm supposed to change that. I've made some progress but I think this is more a job for Ratchet or Perceptor. They would know more about the actual workings of their processors."

"Feel free to bring 'em over. We wouldn't mind havin' you around, either."

"I might," Powerglide replied, sounding like he wanted to keep thinking about it. "Do you lot have a plan yet?"

"Yeah, just about." Broadcast abruptly felt a surreal sensation about the conversation. "We could use anyone of our caliber on the sidelines, though."

Powerglide stared. Then he chuckled without humor. "I see what you're trying to do. Did Optimus forget that I said I wasn't choosing sides?"

"Actually, he said to let you be. It's my idea to ask ya. Just thought you might want to help protect this world again given as you've got a great record fightin' 'Cons."

_"Again._ It's always _'again'."_ Powerglide's battle mask withdrew with a shriek of metal. "This just goes on and on, Broadcast. I mean, we didn't even win that fight at Autobase. We need something to put the Decepticons out of commission for good. The Autobots haven't been able to do it after so many years of war. Maybe it's time to _trust_ another race to take over and finish the job."

Broadcast could only gape at the screen.

A knowing look crossed Powerglide's face. "Don't discount the humans. All around the world they have faced insurmountable odds. I was here when they dropped _the_ bomb. They have ingenuity, and they can survive, and they can rebuild."

"Hey, I'm the last Autobot who's gonna count them out. I guess it's just habit from seein' all the races who couldn't stand up to the 'Cons. An' I think we should spare 'em that."

"Then Optimus Prime needs to do something about this once and for all. Drive every last Decepticon off the planet and make sure none of them ever land here again."

Uncertainty began to niggle at the comms officer. "Ain't that what we all wish? But we ain't got the resources for that. Man, they took out the _Ark._ It ain't like we wouldn't _try,_ but it's a tall order right now."

"Ask for help."

"I'll bring it up to Prime." Broadcast wondered if by making the suggestion Powerglide realized that ARROW was the first organization that would lend a hand, and he would end up in the fight anyway. Another call to Banachek was due, anyway. "An' I'll give Ratchet a head's up if you want. We're always open to your input, y'know."

"Sure. Just--" He was interrupted by a frantic beeping to the side. His battlemask slid out just as his face was peppered with machine gun fire. Broadcast tensed, on the verge of sounding an alert at the ARROW base, but then he noticed how tiny the bullet marks were. The screen filled with static for a moment then cleared to an image of Powerglide pinching an mp3 player between his thumb and pointer finger.

Broadcast frowned. "Looks like you got a battle no matter where you're sittin'."

"All part of the rehibilitation process," Powerglide huffed. "They ramdomly go off like that. Every time I think I have it solved _that_ happens."

"Has a human been wounded by one?"

"Not seriously. The first time they malfunction they're put in containment. I have approached them each carefully, but it seems worse every time. They--"

"Are evolvin'?" Broadcast offered. "Maybe you oughtta let me take a look at 'em, too. I kinda wonder if somethin' unseen is triggerin' 'em."

"If you want. I have to go deal with this right now. I'll call you. Powerglide out."

"Later, man." Broadcast let the screen go dark then stared at the console, thinking.

* * *

"This is Isolde Holden with Channel Twelve News. We're here at the perimeter of the Ark, which as many viewers know is the much-publicized base of the Autobots. Members from the government's ARROW division arrived moments ago. The question is: what has caused such a meeting? Up until now the Autobots have kept physical appearances to a minimum. In fact, only Optimus Prime is visible as he greets head of operations Tom Banachek."

Sam yawned as he watched the live newscast. "Did you really think you would see anyone else?" he muttered. He glanced toward the side window to see if Bumblebee was watching, too, but the yellow bot wasn't there. He was probably sitting in the driveway tuned to an internal feed.

"We're going to get closer to try to find an answer."

"Good luck with that, Isolde." Sam chuckled. He scratched behind one ear.

"Another Autobot has just exited the Ark. Let me confirm -- yes, this one has never been seen before. This Autobot appears to be..." The camera zoomed in but could not pick up additional detail on the silver figure. The focus adjusted a few times.

Sam sat up straighter, one hand going to the arm of the couch.

"This Autobot appears to be very small," Isolde finally finished. "And is heading toward us. Perhaps we will be offered official answers." The camera settled into a steady zoom out.

"When did Broadcast leave?" Sam waited with as much anxiety as the news crew probably felt, but for a different reason. He knew the communications officer had been commanding Autobase One. Suddenly the appearance of ARROW and both commanding officers at the Ark became a whole lot more concerning. He wondered if it had to do with the Insecticon he had helped catch.

"Hello!" Isolde called out, the camera taking a view of her smile before panning back to the approaching bot. "I'm Isolde from Channel Twelve News. Can I ask your name, and would you mind telling the public a little about this event?"

"Heyya, Isolde, love your show," Broadcast replied with a smile of his own. Rhythm and Blues were absent from his shoulders. "I'm Broadcast. I handle Autobot communications. I've been undergoin' repairs, so that's why you haven't heard from me until now. Hopefully you an' your fellow reporters will get a chance to hear from me more in the future."

"Nice to meet you, Broadcast. So, what has brought ARROW to your door today? I understand they have been a big part of clean up after the assault by the Decepticons."

"Yeah, they've been helpin' a lot, an' we appreciate it. As for today, it's just a little meetin'." Broadcast gave a charming smile.

Sam found himself chuckling. The small bot was the perfect PR agent with his adopted mannerisms and humanoid face. "Just don't get carried away, buddy."

On screen, Isolde's posture showed she was falling under Broadcast's particular spell. "So we shouldn't brace for anything Earth-shattering, should we?"

"Nah," Broadcast assured, waving one hand in dismissal. "Just coverin' all that fun logistics stuff like openin' relations a little more. We'd like to get more dialogues goin' with more people, an' gain an understandin' of where we can be trusted to sit an' learn more. We wanna approach things with respect, an' ARROW is one of the government groups that's helpin' out."

"Is it true there is also a group that also, shall we say, handles incidents with complaints from citizens about you being here?"

"Ms. Holden, we understand that not everyone is gonna accept us. That's okay. Everyone is able to form their own ideas about stuff. We just hope it doesn't turn violent. 'Cause we know what that can escalate into, an' it cost us our own planet. We're hopin' that despite differin' opinions, problems can be talked out. We don't want war, we just want a chance to live an' learn more about the universe around us." Broadcast turned a sincere look toward the camera.

"We've heard similar sentiments from Optimus Prime. Are all of your people so interested in study?"

"Most of 'em. We all like different things. Me, I like music." He shifted slightly and it wasn't exactly clear where the chorus from Louie Armstrong's What A Wonderful World came from. "Durin' my recovery I was listenin' to all types of music from around the world. I dig it." He gave two thumb's up in such a natural human movement that Isolde returned the gesture. She hastily put her hand down as the camera panned completely on to her. Sam laughed.

"Perhaps we will also hear from an ARROW coordinator once the meeting is over. This is Isolde Holden reporting from the Ark territory."

Sam waited a moment or two, listening to the speculation from the newscasters in the studio. Then he got up from the couch and dashed outside the back door to see if Bumblebee had gotten a transmission about the actual cause for Broadcast being at the Ark.

* * *

Once the cameras were off and most of the news equipment packed away, Isolde walked back over to Broadcast, who had lingered in expectation of off the record questions. What he didn't expect was Isolde's critical gaze as she asked, "Music, hmm? The Beatles or the 'Stones?"

The Autobot blinked in disbelief. "Aw, you askin' me to _choose?_ Guess I gotta go with the Beatles, 'cause they came first. Although the Stones'll be around forever."

Isolde chuckled. "You're not at all like..." she paused.

"Like Prime? Or like you expected?" Broadcast winked.

"Yes, right on both. Neither Optimus nor Trailbreaker have used a dialect."

"That could change. Well, maybe not in Optimus' case. He's all proper an' that. In the last couple'a months more of us have picked up accents. It all depends on our interests. I mix'n'match pop culture by nature. We're even gettin' some cowboy influence goin' on thanks to movie marathons. The variety is a nice thing. So, yeah, we all got our areas of study. For some it's the Top 40, for others it's John Wayne." He put his hands on his hips, grinning lightly.

Isolde looked him over with an amused expression. "I just can't think of you guys as mere robots anymore."

"I'll pass along the compliment." Broadcast saluted and did a twisting dance step to turn toward the Ark, but looked over his shoulder at her. "I gotta go attend the meetin'. Been nice talkin' with you, Ms. Holden."

"Call me Isolde. We should talk again sometime."

He shot her one more grin. "Sure thing, Isolde."

The reporter wasn't quite certain she heard correctly, but there seemed to be a sad lilt to the small bot's voice.

* * *

"Simmons. You a-hole. Get over here." Lennox marched across the entranceway with one hand balling into a fist. Prowl scanned the approaching human, noting his rising adrenaline level, and was tempted to step aside.

Reggie, meanwhile, raised his hands in front of him to ward Lennox off. "Hey now, I still have seniority over--"

Will seized him by the front of his shirt. "What's with all this fake authority you think you have, hm? You're AWOL as far as I'm concerned." He shook him briefly, then let go. "Just what do you think you're doing? Do you understand what _could_ have happened to you?! Do you understand the unnecessary _risk_ you took?! For what? You should have reported your suspicion and let the department handle it!"

"Where would be the glory in that?" Reggie smirked.

Will tensed to punch him, then lowered his hand and shook his head. "Liar. You already think you're important. You did it for some other reason."

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Another smirk.

Lennox would have wiped it off his face if Banachek hadn't called out from where he stood beside Optimus, "Gentlemen. If you'll come with us to the conference room without further discussion." He glanced up. "Prowl, please accompany us."

Prowl glanced at Optimus, then nodded. Lennox continued to glare at Simmons all the way to the makeshift conference room. Breckstein and Markhail also joined them and didn't try to interfere with or question Will's anger.

The conference room had an appropriately sized holo-table for the large bots with a smaller table on top of it for the benefit of the humans. Optimus lifted the five up while Prowl took up station at the far end, typing data into the holotable's projection reader. A few minutes later Chromia entered with Broadcast on her shoulder. He jumped down and joined the humans at the smaller table. He grinned at Will. "Lennox, m'man, how's it goin'?"

Will returned the grin and held up a hand for a high-five. "Broadcast. 'Sup."

Chromia went over to stand adjacent to Prowl. Lennox noticed that her alt mode placement had changed since he had last seen her and although he couldn't identify the new vehicle choice, it seemed to be a more saturated shade of blue than before. She looked toward the group of humans, which prompted him to wave -- until her angry glare stoppped him. But it wasn't directed at him. He followed her gaze from the corner of his eyes, settling on Simmons. He smirked.

Banachek acknowledged Broadcast with a nod, then looked at Prowl. "Let's go over what we're lookin' at in terms of numbers and locations."

Prowl nodded and activated the table. The room's lights dimmed and an image of Earth, in blue and green, along with the Moon in gray, appeared above it. Four yellow areas blinked upon the Earth then separated and enlarged in turn. "From low to high priority here on Earth," Prowl began, "Washington DC. Three spybots: Bombshell, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw, in the possession of Rattlelatch and being studied for information. This is where Rumble was once sighted but new evidence shows he left the area." The yellow portion shrunk down onto the holographic Earth and remained highlighted. "AutoBase One. Another spybot, Kickback, contained until it can be safely transferred to DC to also be studied by Rattlelatch. Attacked by Dirge, Scorponok, and the Stunticons. Scorponok was destroyed on the site. The Stunticons pulled out and are known to be impersonating sports vehicles at various racing tracks. Their current whereabouts, however, are unknown. Dirge left the area to engage our team in East Oakland. We believe he was in critical condition, if not destroyed, here. Barricade was sighted and subsequently lost again. Current location unknown."

A section of the Atlantic Ocean came next. "The Laurentian Abyss, where the remains of Megatron, Blackout, Bonecrusher, and Brawl were sunk. Evidence suggests they were recovered." Upon the globe a dotted yellow line traced a path from the Abyss through the Panama Canal to a relatively island-free section of the Pacific Ocean. The image of a lone, generic-looking aircraft carrier enlarged. "Tidal Wave, acting as transport. This is the highest concentration of Decepticons. Evidence suggests the presence of Soundwave, two aerospace flyers, the Constructicons -- Hook, Scrapper, Mixmaster, Long Haul, and Scavenger -- and more spies. Rumble, Ravage Squawktalk, a rebuilt Frenzy, and the in-progress reconstructed remains of Megatron. It is unknown how many more of Soundwave's army is aboard or in the field. It would be safer to assume there _are_ more of them online, and that he will intend to retrieve at least Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. It is obvious that the Megatron restoration is a higher priority to him right now."

The yellow areas disappeared from the Earth as it and the Moon themselves enlarged. "There is also the unknown case of the Combaticons, last sighted in orbit of the Moon, with Astrotrain as transport. Onslaught, Vortex, Blast Off, Tankor, and Gutcruncher, as well as Ramjet, Thrust, and Skywarp. We cannot confirm if they all left the solar system or if they perhaps made planetfall." A hard look came to Prowl's face. Chromia touched his shoulder briefly. He nodded to her in acknowledgement.

Banachek had his hands steepled, pointer fingers on his lips in thought. He lowered them slightly. "We don't have the resources to send our men into space to investigate." He glanced at Optimus, who shook his head. "Then we'll put all our focus on Tidal Wave. We need further confirmation, so we'll just have to go in. You had a team planned out?"

"Yes," Prowl responded, bringing up the roster assignments superimposed over the planet. Tom nodded after reading. Will noticed that Ironhide's name was missing. He darted a glance at Chromia, but she was looking elsewhere -- and she looked angry. He would have to try to talk to her after the meeting.

"I can get you transportation," Tom said, "But I'm not sending any agents in there."

Optimus nodded. "I didn't expect you to. This is ours to deal with."

Tom nodded. "We will, however, form our own line of defense after I've had time to talk with Secretary Keller."

A garbled bit of sound drew everyone's attention to Broadcast. The small bot's hands were clenched, his optics bright as his gaze followed the spot in the Pacific while the holographic Earth rotated. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I got a friend to avenge."

"Jazz." Lennox spoke with certainty. The other ARROW members and Broadcast all looked at him. He cleared his throat.

Prowl rapped his knuckle joints on the edge of the table. "We need to proceed with arrangements as soon as possible. The Decepticons must not be allowed to resurrect Megatron."

"Right." Banachek stepped back, removing a cell phone from his jacket's inner pocket. "I'll put in the call. I also need to discuss something with Reg in private, if there's anyplace available here."

"I have a suggestion," Prowl offered, coming around the holotable and lowering his hands, palms up, to the two men. Simmons glanced at Tom then stepped onto the Autobot's hand.

"Psst, Broadcast." Lennox tapped the small Autobot's ahoulder. "Go a sec?"

"That's about all I got. Crowd control's comin' up."

"Gotcha. I just wanted to ask where R an' B are."

Broadcast's optics dimmed and he frowned, but then he shook his head and grinned. "Gettin' an upgrade. See ya." He skittered to the edge of the holotable and leapt off.

Will stared after him, surprised at the rude treatment, but he didn't get a chance to try and follow because Chromia's hand came down beside him. "Will. I would like to speak with you."

"Of course." Well, that solved his earlier thought of speaking with _her._ He looked up at her and found another pair of dimmed optics. He felt an uneasy feeling come over him. When giant robots had personal issues, what could the consequences be? He tried not to picture Chromia punching a cement bridge column to vent frustration.

She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then picked him up and put him on her shoulder. "Hey--" He started to protest, but stopped himself, instead bracing his feet and taking hold of a panel edge on the side of her head as she walked out of the conference room and went further into the Ark. He studied the walls as they travelled, trying to make sense of occasional symbols marking other hallways and doors. He worried they would enter a med bay with a damaged Ironhide inside. "Where are we going?"

Chromia halted and cycled out air. "I do not know." She lowered her optics. Her hands fidgeted.

"Where's Ironhide?"

"Direct. Very good, Will. That, I do not know either. He is on leave, travelling somewhere. Yes, that is right...not even I know."

"And that's what you want to talk to me about?"

"No. What I want to know is if you would be willing to arrange for me to speak with your wife."

**To Be Continued**


	7. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: Trying to get back on the horse again. It's been a long, busy several months IRL._

* * *

**Renewal - Part Six**

Soundwave allowed himself a triumphant chuckle. He had confirmed the location of the traitorous Thundercracker and discovered that the Autobot's heaviest hitter was not in the field. Ironhide could be found, but not until the time was right. The most useful information was which Autobots to expect to try to stop the current operation. He wondered how they expected to cross the water undetected. They didn't even seem very confident -- Prime was too quiet, letting his desensitized tactician speak for him. Soundwave found Chromia's stance interesting. She had been a highly dangerous factor before, especially given how she had managed to pursue Ratbat despite his efforts to lose her between planets. Seeing that she was not functioning at peak awareness pleased him. She had been the biggest threat to this experiment, but she was sufficiently distracted by her emotions.

He was pleased with his newest little spy. He wondered how the Autobots would try to start the infiltration with Thundercracker and Broadcast. They seemed to have embraced the traitor, repairing him and now upgrading him. He wondered if they would have accepted any turncoat who came crawling over to them.

As for Broadcast, he would step on the noisy scraplet himself. He felt no threat there. That the Autobots had discovered one secret of Megatron's spark did not concern him. Their weak notion of a rescue would be just what he needed to finish resurrecting Megatron and be rid of this organic planet. Its people were preparing to wage war on the Decepticons but they had nominal chance of succeeding. A lack of supplies was the only thing stopping the Constructicons from solving that little oversight.

Besides, let the humans think they had a weapon against their robotic overlords. If Megatron let the planet stand long enough, it would be easy to plant a few suggestions that such tactical knowledge could be used to do something about the _other_ invading robot aliens.

Then there was that fool designated Reginald Simmons. How brazen to think he could sneak on board without Tidal Wave himself noticing. Did it not occur to him that a Cybertronian would register every slight fluctuation in weight upon itself regardless of what mode it was in?

He cycled air out, realizing he needn't bother to spare the processing power. The answer to all was simple: let the Autobots _think_ they were sufficiently covert. Even Falxernian technology would do them little good -- he and Scrapper had cracked that one months ago.

They would destroy the Autobot team coming to the ocean and decimate the two bases at the same time. Even now his third Insecticon was moving in with the necessary force close behind. Broadcast would not be finding this one, this time.

* * *

Simmons stood at rest, whistling quietly while Banachek paced the length of the communications hub floor. The room was still under reconstruction, but what was prepared so far was in scale with Broadcast in mind. There were seats the men could easily fit into, but neither was inclined to sit.

"Stop that," Tom snapped.

"Sorry. Sir." He sniffed and wiped at his nose as if having a sudden itch.

"Don't patronize me, Reggie."

"I'm not. I promise."

Banachek inhaled to speak. "A--" He stopped himself, jaw snapping shut and then he paced away again. When he turned around again he looked like he was holding back a tirade. "Why didn't you report in? Why didn't you tell us about the technology you found? What is _wrong_ with you?!"

Simmons raised an eyebrow. "You're only asking me that last one now? Pfftt, everybody's been wondering about that for years."

_"Reginald."_ Tom scowled. "You know, you're not doin' the Old Man very proud. He'd have plenty to say about your negligence."

"Yeah, poor ol' Dad, gone these ten years. He loved his hobbies, he did."

Tom was shocked. "Besides that he was your _father,_ how could you disrespect the man who did so much for this organization--"

_"This_ one? He wasn't part of ARROW. Did you forget Sector Seven was disbanded? Oh, and why I didn't report in? I didn't want _them_ to find me."

"Them."

_"Them."_ He lowered his voice. "The 'Cons. Wouldn't surprise me if they were monitoring this place, too." Simmons glanced around, paranoia clear on his face.

Banachek rubbed at his right temple. "Reg, you really should get checked out. I think you've become way too involved--"

"Nope, I think I'm right where I need to be. _Someone_ had to take the initiative. We've _got_ all this alien tech that we've figured out, why not put it to use? The guys who left it here obviously aren't using it anymore."

"That's not the point. There are regulations and protocols for a reas--"

"Are you okay, Tom?" Reggie's concern sounded genuine. "You look a little stressed out."

Banachek stared at him. He stared right back, his head tilting slightly to indicate he was willing to listen to whatever was truly bothering the other man. Tom sighed. "All right. What else do you know?"

"Not enough to make a judgement yet."

Tom stared at him again, his nostrils flaring. Now Reggie gave him an innocent look in return. "So..." Tom said slowly, "What are you goin' to _do_ next?"

A shrug. "Don't know. Maybe I'll hang out here for a while. I bet you could get some awesome video game graphics on these screens." He gazed around the room again, this time with perfect calm.

"Have you gotten into anything radioactive lately?"

"Only if they changed the bottles at my local sports bar."

A nerve under Tom's left eye ticked. "Reg, you do what you want for now. I've got real work to do. We'll be payin' you a visit when this is done." He backed toward the door, his eyes on Simmons the entire way. He looked away long enough to hit the button that would open it -- a secondary keypad at Broadcast's height while the door itself was a tall Cybertronian size. Prowl glanced over from where he had been standing guard. Banachek waved him away, heading down the corridor to the main entrance.

Simmons was writing something on a small notepad when the Autobot turned to him. "Looks like a court martial to me," Reggie said, puffing his cheeks out before sighing. He put the notepad away inside his jacket as he walked over to Prowl. "Hey, could I get a lift? I'm going to wait things out here, but, man, it's a long walk to everywhere."

Prowl regarded him in silence as he leaned over with one hand out. As Simmons settled onto the Autobot's palm he drew out another notepad from a different pocket. "Have I told you yet how my father was a very paranoid man in his last few years?"

* * *

A while later, Chromia and Prowl stood together at Teletraan-1 watching the feed from the external cameras that were following the exit of Prime's mixed convoy. Markhail rode with Optimus to get them through clearance areas. Thundercracker was hidden in a trailer hitched to the Autobot leader. Banachek was with Firestar, flying ahead to negotiate the last of the arrangements in person.

Prowl's gaze remained on the screen as he spoke. "Are you ready to head out next, General?"

She grimaced at him. "I am not ready to take that title again just yet."

"But you will."

"Yes. What odds have you calculated?"

"The Ark will be forfeit."

"I calculated the same. It hurts to lose another piece of our home world. I even had hopes it could be made to fly again."

"It is a necessary sacrifice. It is inevitable that they will aim to take us out first, as we are the bigger threat to them than any of the human military installations."

"What I have been unable to compute is how much _more_ must be sacrificed to stop the Decepticons once and for all. We don't have anything else left."

He finally looked over at her. "The line is drawn _here."_

* * *

Gears grumbled as he picked up a stack of metal rods that had fallen over, his hi-beams reflecting off of each one. Windcharger stood a few feet away from where Huffer was fixing the wiring of a set of blast doors, using his headlights to illuminate the area for the other minibot. What had once been a double corridor had been turned into a narrow tunnel with no lighting whatsoever. The blast doors they were struggling to open had previously covered the entire width of the original corridor; one of the doors was now embedded in the left-hand wall.

Huffer's plan had been to get the right-hand door open and scavenge for more spare parts in the storage bay that should have been behind the doors. He knew that 'should haves' were the rule instead of 'should bes' ever since the Ark had crashed, its mechanisms caught between regular and condensed mode and ruining the ship's layout. There were still areas he had yet to find a way to access.

Windcharger began to rock on his feet, heel to toes, and deleted a comment as Gears knocked over a rod he had just picked up. An electrical spark leapt from the door panel, causing Huffer to draw back. "Hold the light _steady,_ Windcharger." Another rod fell over, followed by harsh words in Cybertronian. Huffer glared again. "Gears! Just _leave_ it! Did you two forget that you're supposed to be _helping_ me?"

"Kinda," Windcharger replied. "I mean, why bother fixing it at this point? Why don't we just blow up the door?"

"Because I don't know if there is another set of doors behind this one. _Or_ if there is intact, _delicate_ equipment directly behind it. Or--"

"Or," Gears interrupted, "A trapped Decepticon."

Huffer stared down at the tools extended from his forearm then peered at the door panel. "That one hadn't occurred to me."

"Well, we could use the practice," Windcharger said glibly. "Since we are like the last line of defense if Optimus' team gets beaten."

"Yeah," Gears snorted. "Great prospect, ain't it? Failure on the part of, oh, _everyone."_

Huffer suddenly grabbed Windcharger by the shoulders and forced him to stand motionless, headlights again pointed at the door panel. "Why don't we all find out the way I planned it, all right?" He went back to work. Gears crossed his arms and watched.

After about ten minutes of switching out and reconnecting wires, the emergency lights came on. Windcharger cycled air in a relieved sigh and took a single step to the left, drawing another glare from Huffer. He quickly returned to where the engineer had put him. Five minutes later an amber light came on over the panel.

Without needing a further signal Gears moved to where the doors met and grasped the seam, favoring the right-hand door. Huffer closed up the wire access panel and tested the keypad. There was a loud squeal, likely from the left-hand door. The right side slid a scant finger-width away from it. Huffer clenched and unclenched his hands. "Come on, I bypassed that!"

Windcharger glanced at him and shrugged, stepping toward Gears and raising his hands. He bent his fingers in a grasping motion and yanked sideways at thin air. The air above where Gears held the door warped strangely, then the door slid open several more centimeters. Gears wedged his hands in and braced himself against the wall to push while Windcharger magnetically pulled again.

Little by little they were able to move the door until it was nested inside its frame. Huffer peered in first, almost afraid to direct his lights around the room. It was much bigger than he had expected and it contained something he had _never_ expected. His optics grew brighter and he smiled as broadly as his facial mechanisms allowed. "Gentlemen, our luck is changing. The 'Cons won't be expecting an orbital bombardment!"

Windcharger looked suitably impressed as he looked over the displaced but intact scout shuttle, but Gears snorted in disdain. "You're giving this thing's armaments too much credit. Besides, how are we going to get it out of here?"

Huffer smacked his palm to his forehead. "We'll have Chromia blast a passage before she leaves, what do you think? Just shut up and transform." He went up to the small shuttle's entry hatch, glanced it over to make sure it wasn't rigged with something, then opened it and reached inside. After a moment he stepped back and the shuttle's outer panels began to shift around. As with the Ark, the scouting ships could condense, too, this one into a semi-portable rectangular shape. Huffer studied it, glanced at the doorway, then looked back again, and finally looked at Gears. "We'll both have to haul it out. Windcharger, lift it up." He moved over behind Gears and transformed, lowering himself on his shocks so that his bed was about in line with Gears' back platform. Windcharger activated his magnetics again to raise the condensed shuttle and balance it between the jeep and truck.

"All right," Huffer said, "We'll have to take this slow but I can keep pace going backward. Windcharger, spot us."

"Got it." Windcharger waited as they made their way through the narrowed doorway, alert for the smallest of scrapes that could mean the condensed shuttle wouldn't fit. It cleared the doorway just fine. As they moved down the corridor he kept watch for debris -- Gears bumped over one of the fallen rods -- but once their progress was steady he let his processor start to wander.

"Another question, Huffer," Gears piped up, "How do we _launch_ this thing and where do we get the fuel for it?"

"Oh, I'll _find_ a way!"

* * *

After setting up a camouflage field they brought the scout shuttle outside and Huffer proceeded with his intentions to modify it. Moonracer assisted him and was amused by his uncharacteristic good mood. She wished it would spread to Gears, who was also on hand and complaining about it. She made sure to stick closer to Huffer. "You are surely too happy about this thing."

"Are you kidding?" Huffer went about fitting a pipe into a fuel line slot. "Look at it this way: even if only two of us can fit in this, we could go back to one of the more technologically advanced planets and borrow a ship that _could_ carry all of us off this planet! Then we could either return the ship and stay there or find a way to buy the ship and go back to Cybertron."

"Huffer, there isn't much of Cybertron to go back _to_ and you know it. Why don't you want to stay here?"

"It's not Cybertron." He paused and glared at her. "Why are _you_ so quick to settle for _this_ planet?"

"Aside from needing to stop the Decepticons? Optimus thinks we should stay. Besides, aren't you getting ahead of yourself? Do you think any of those other planets will take us in? I know a few of their inhabitants thought of us as a threat."

Huffer pointed a wrench at her. "You know what? I can mod this thing by myself. Go back to prepping the med bay, I'll call you if I need anything."

Gears muscled between them and dropped a crate of spare parts at Huffer's feet. "You're assuming we can get it to fly. These things are designed to be launched in space. There is a _little_ too much gravity here."

"Not when I'm done installing an anti-grav unit." Huffer grinned. "It will help give enough altitude to safely engage the boosters."

Moonracer gaped. "Where did you even find the parts to build something like that?"

"Around."

Gears shook his head. "Sorry, but I think this idea is as reliable as trusting an ex-Decepticon with experimental cloaking technology."

"Nanite technology," Huffer corrected. "It does more than act as a cloaking agent."

"So I've heard. All those tiny receptors scrambling radar detection, broadcasting false signatures, blahblahblah. We still gave it to the wrong mech."

"He'll be the first to be destroyed if it does _not_ work," Huffer replied. "And so will Broadcast...so put a little faith in it."

Gears grumbled unintelligibly again.

Meanwhile, Prowl was watching them from the doorway, running contingency scenarios on top of contingency scenarios if Huffer failed to get the scout shuttle to fly.

* * *

A green hatchback pulled into the parking space next to a black Buick Enclave in the underground parking lot, its driver perhaps unaware that the space was marked _reserved_ and that the compact was garishly out of place amongst the somber vehicles belonging to government officials. The Enclave's owner was leaning against the large, flat aluminum railing that ran the length of the parking structure, his arms folded as he waited.

Epps threw a nod at the hatchback and wasn't surprised when the driver's side door didn't open. The windshield was so darkly tinted he didn't know for sure either way if there was a human being inside or a hologram. After a moment he did see movement behind the glass, then the door opened and a tall, blond-haired young woman in a mismatched pant suit climbed out. She glanced back inside as if forgetting something, then she stepped away and closed the door. She shot a glance at the Enclave, then beckoned to Epps as she moved onto the walkway. He leaned off the railing and fell into step beside her. "Ms. Madsen. How goes it?"

"Nowhere fast," she muttered. She cast a furtive look back to the two cars while increasing her pace toward a door at the end of the sidewalk. Once there she keyed in the code to open it. Bobby took the handle then followed her inside. Maggie moved so he could enter but she stopped at the bottom step of the two tiered stairwell. He eyed her curiously. She studied her watch, tapping the side of it, then looked over at him. "I think 'Latch is angry. He hasn't said a word to me all morning. Usually we talk tech if there's anything official we want to put off, but he's not himself. How is Trailbreaker acting?"

"Quiet, too. I think he'd rather be where the fight is. Maybe Rattlelatch is feelin' the same."

She made a doubtful face. "I don't know. He doesn't like to fight. I almost wonder if he's afraid of being the last line of defense. Not that I expect him to have so little faith in _our_ ability to fight the Deceptcons, but if I was in his shoes the thought would definitely cross my mind."

Epps nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I know ARROW can pack a punch if they want to. I've been doin' more paperwork than anything lately but I'll be first in line for a weapon if they call us to action."

Just then the door at the top of the stairwell opened. They both looked up and were surprised to see Secretary Keller himself. Without preamble he gestured for them to come up. "Come with me. We have a situation."

Bobby fixed his tie as he took the stairs two at a time, sparing a glance at the camera in the corner. Maggie followed after, remembering the last time Keller had come personally looking for her. The three of them headed into the main hallway off the parking lot, Keller setting a brisk pace further into the building. They stopped at a door requiring his clearance. Maggie felt her heart jump in anticipation; this was going to be something very interesting.

Two men were already seated in the room. One had on a suit with a badge proclaiming him part of Bobby's division. The other looked out of place in jeans and a striped polo.

Maggie gaped. "Glen? Why are--"

"Later, please," Keller interrupted. "Please be seated." While he remained standing, a large screen flickered on at the front of the room. A ticker at the bottom denoted the time of the video feed and a location: _Autobot Ark._ Maggie's eyebrows rose. She probably shouldn't have been surprised by that, but she definitely did not expect to see Simmons' face appear next after all she had heard about him lately.

"Good afternoon, everyone. Great to see we've got a class reunion going on. Going to be as fun as our first meeting, actually, as long as no one else threatens me at gunpoint."

Keller folded his arms, all the gesture he needed to make for Simmons to get to the point.

"On to business. I have pertinent news that requires some action from each of you, especially the...information gathering specialists. Lady and gentlemen, it's on us to save the world again."

* * *

Not long after hitting the road toward Autobase with Red Alert in the lead should a 'police escort' become necessary, Chromia dialed the call to Lennox's wife. Her internal frequency and display connected to the webcam and she was able to see a blond-haired woman while projecting an image of her own robotic face, skipping the need for her human hologram. "Greetings, Sarah Lennox."

"Hello, Mrs. Arcstrom. Will told me you'd be calling this afternoon. I'm glad to finally get to talk to you. I've only heard about you from Will and Mr. Arcstrom."

"Please, call me Chromia. I have ensured the security of this line."

"As long as you call me Sarah. What can I do for you?"

"I wish to talk."

Sarah's expression filled with curiosity when the Autobot didn't immediately elaborate. "I'm all ears," she prompted.

"I have... done some studies and Ironhide has told me of how human relationships like the one you share with Will work."

_Oh dear,_ Sarah thought. _This might get awkward._ She couldn't help feeling amused, but tried not to show it outwardly.

"I wanted to ask..." Chromia went silent again for a long moment before continuing, "In your experience, how do you deal with the separation?"

Sarah was puzzled by the question. "I thought you and Ironhide were apart for thousands of years? I'm not sure I can really compare with that."

Chromia calculated the relevance of age and distance. "How do you feel when your husband is stationed on the other side of the planet? He sees the same sky that you do."

The words were blunt rather than poetic. Sarah felt compelled to answer earnestly. "I feel worried." Her tone was somber as a reason for the question came to her. "I get anxious waiting for his next call or email."

"Thus, how do you deal with it?"

"I tell myself he's fine. He's doing his job and I need to do mine. But there are times when I'll... look up at the sky and wonder what he's looking at."

Chromia's image gave the impression of her optics dimming. "Doing his job... Yes, that is it. Ironhide was not sent on a mission nor does his reason for going on leave have any bearing on his function here."

Sarah picked through the choice of phrasing. "So, do you see it as he was being selfish by going on leave?"

"He has earned the leave, certainly, but he did not _need_ to go off as he did. His health is as would be expected, and I did not ask anything of him, especially not this, so I see no logical reason for him to have done so."

"I see this has become an upsetting situation for you," Sarah ventured. The Autobot's tone was analytical yet she had a feeling there was an underlying frustration.

Chromia gave pause, then her image nodded, optics dimming. "The distance, no. We could have ended up on separate missions even if he had stayed. It is just that it was _unnecessary_ for him to leave. Ratchet might have been able to do some repairs, bypass something to avoid further scarring, and the existing damage would not have impeded Ironhide's function as a warrior--"

"Chromia, I'm sorry, but I don't follow. Is Ironhide sick? I know about some of his injuries but I didn't know any were still life threatening."

The Autobot's image contorted into a pleading look, surprising her. "Sarah Lennox, I need assistance with perspective. Ironhide and I are bonded but I fear I do not understand him right now."

Sarah offered a look of sympathy. "On that I can relate. Human men can be inexplicable sometimes. If you can, tell me more -- you said the line was secure and I know how important secrecy is."

"He wants to heal his spark -- it is scarred by wounds and by battle itself. We do not know if it is even _possible_ to remove spark scars. They do not hinder life -- I have many on my own, and I have no urge to find a way to repair them. I can function. There is no evidence, nothing that I can feel from him, that proves they hinder him, either."

"Is there any other reason he would want to try to heal it?" She tried to imagine not just what a spark looked like but how it could exhibit scars, given how Ironhide's physical blemishes looked. That brought to mind that the sparks _were_ physical and not just a metaphor for a soul. She could ask more about that subject later, though. Now she was concerned that Chromia wasn't answering, her image merely staring emptily back at her. A new thought occurred to her. "You're afraid for him, aren't you?"

The image's optics dimmed again. "I worry he will fail, and I worry about the impact on him. He would not be diminished in _my_ view, but I do not know how he will view himself. He has never been one to dwell on such things. I do not know why this singular matter became urgent."

"That brings it back to my first question -- could there be some other reason for it besides what he'd usually give for doing things?" Sarah tried to decide if there was some business Chromia simply didn't want to share. "Even if there is, it's _okay_ to worry, Chromia. He's a soldier and it's in them to be tough and strong, but sometimes they have things that only they can deal with."

"I myself am a soldier," Chromia replied quietly. "And you are right... There are things, 'demons' as you humans would call it, and other types of factors, that come to be. For now it seems all I can do is hope that he succeeds and does not return any worse for it."

"I'm sorry I can't help you more, Chromia. If you want to talk again when he gets back, I'll listen."

"Thank you. I must go now. Good bye, Sarah."

Sarah gazed at the screen after the webcam connection closed. She resisted the urge to go to the phone and call her husband.

* * *

Skywarp was annoyed. First he had flown circles around the same boring section of ocean, then he was sent across a continent. He was only halfway through that journey now and it might not have been so bad if he was alone. Then he could have taken whichever detours he wanted to. No, instead he had a cockpit full of miniature morons. He was going to kill Soundwave.

His consolation was that by the time this mission was over he would no longer have to take orders from Soundwave. Maybe Megatron would even choose new officers. Skywarp figured he had a chance at Lieutenant Air Commander with Starscream out of the way. He hoped Starscream _stayed_ lost in space.

"Yeah, you really lucked out, didn'tcha, 'Warpie?" Rumble crowed from the pilot seat, somehow fitting beside Frenzy without the two fighting. Ravage was curled up along the top of the seat and Ratbat was crammed in front of it, barely fitting if not for his slimmed down repairs. They weren't happy, either.

"And _why_ am I so lucky?"

"We might let you in on a secret."

His internal camera picked up on Rumble and Frenzy looking at each other and snickering. This couldn't be good. "What secret?"

Frenzy answered, "We have a plan."

"Hey, the freak speaks!" Skywarp laughed.

"SHUT UP!!" Frenzy hissed, digging his fingers into the seat. "You have no idea who you're dealing with! I have touched the Allspark!"

"No, you haven't. You were built from the late Frenzy's specs!" The jet waited a moment then cracked up.

_"Shut up!"_ Frenzy screeched.

"Rumble," Skywarp said, still chuckling, "You _listened_ to him? He's crazy!"

"No. He's the man with the plan," Rumble corrected. "But if you don't want in..."

"What could you scraplets have come up with that would be any better than this mission? And do you expect to get away with something under Soundwave's ever-vigilant monitoring? If so, you're both crazier than I thought."

"Aww, Frenzy, he don't want in." Rumble feigned a disappointed tone.

"I don't want to end up _dead._ We have work to do to support Megatron's return. We shouldn't do anything other than what we're told to do."

"Skywarp, you're borin'." Rumble slumped in the seat. "You won't even play along." Frenzy, meanwhile, had all of his optics narrowed. He elbowed Rumble with two arms. "Your loss, 'Warpie."

_"Quiet,"_ Ratbat hissed. _"All_ of you." He reached up and grasped Rumble and Frenzy by the head in either hand. "What are you two instigating? What are you trying to prove? You are disposable. You cannot undermine what is in motion for your own gains. You should not _have_ any ambition anyway. We all act for the glory of Megatron and the Decepticon empire."

Frenzy uttered an angry digitized squeal. "Oh yesss, Ratbat, as if _you_ have no plans of your own!"

"Yeah," Rumble chimed in. "You been awful sulky since you got your skidplate handed to you by that femme."

Ratbat's claws tightened. Frenzy screeched.

Skywarp pulled up and looped upward. "You scraplets better settle down. I might pop the hatch by accident, and you'll have to wait for Soundwave to come out and scrape you off the ground."

"Oh, an' you say we're bein' conspiramatorial," Rumble scoffed. "Lookit you, threatenin' ta dump us!"

Skywarp grumbled to himself. What were these scraplets up to?

Then Ravage let out a snarl. "You _all_ need a lesson in patience. Focus on the mission. Unless you have something to add in way of tactics, be _silent."_

Skywarp flew higher and boosted his afterburners. _Huh. The cat can talk._

**To Be Continued**


	8. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Enough set up, it's fuster cluck time! Also, um...Suspension of disbelief, engage? _

* * *

**Renewal - Part Seven**

Bluestreak rested the end of his rifle on his shoulder as he scanned the sky, his attention lingering on every cloud, any hint of movement closely scrutinized until he confirmed it wasn't a Decepticon. Doing so from the open cargo hold of a C-130 Hercules didn't phase him one bit. Arcee was similarly perched in the opposite corner, her own weapon lowered at her side but her arm was tensed. The rest of the team was in vehicle mode, tethered in place until they reached the target area. The loading door had been opened only a few seconds ago to allow the snipers to keep a look out.

"We should be in range any moment," Bluestreak murmured over a secure comm link with the femme. "They can't _not_ be aware of our proximity."

"Maybe they'll be smart enough to keep cover if this stage of their operation is as vital as it should seem to be."

"Nah, that would made me more concerned. At this stage they should be making sure nothing disturbs them. A human squadron with a full payload should set them off. No way this thing is going to go unnoticed." He patted the side wall.

"Broadcast is still jamming everything he possibly can. Until they have us on visual, we're invisible."

Bluestreak tossed a frank look her way. "I'd like to think so. We shouldn't assume anything. I like this Falxernian tech idea and all, it's good to have an advantage, and I trust Broadcast's skills. But I also think it's possible for Skywarp to accidentally pop in right on top of us."

Arcee lifted her arm an inch. "Well, that's what we're for, isn't it?" She gave a small grin.

Bluestreak grinned back.

The aircraft dipped. _"Approaching target,"_ the pilot warned. Both bots tensed and adjusted their perches. They would be jumping in robot mode after the others had been deployed to transform in mid air. Timing was everything now. Tidal Wave couldn't transform with his charges on board, but he would have plenty more artillery than the standard aircraft carrier.

As the Hercules dipped lower, Bluestreak spotted the Decepticon in the water. No jets were on deck. He zoomed in and put a target lock on all visible cannons. None were hot to his sensors but he raised his rifle and sighted down each in turn. He drew more air through his intakes, his processor calculating the angles, turning radius, and potential speed of each battery. He remained focused on that task as they reached drop range. He didn't bat an optic as Optimus slid past.

Seconds later, Prime landed in a crouch on the aircraft carrier's deck without denting it as he would have expected to on a human-made vessel. Tidal Wave would be impossible to take down from the outside. The trick was getting inside before the massive Decepticon sealed the doors.

Ratchet thudded down a few feet away, solid on his feet, and rushed the area on the tower that Simmons had identified as the Cybertronian-sized entrance to the lower levels. He slammed his shoulder into it full force, and with it being more cosmetic than the deck, it did dent inward. That was one way to destroy the locking mechanism. He went to work with the laser cutter built into his arm to get the rest of the door out of the way. A protesting growl came from across the entire ship.

Firestar and Arcee came next, each dashing parallel to the other as they covered the flight deck, sighting on anything that might pop up and attack. When no immediate threat showed itself, they headed for the tower, crossing paths and stepping heavily. Even though he had no apparent destination, Optimus kept moving. The idea was to create an extra amount of weight and vibrations to cover Thundercracker's arrival.

A few seconds later Bluestreak landed, also aiming to make it seem he had more weight -- this time to _appear_ so, because Thundercracker was to have touched down at the same time, in invisible robot mode. Bluestreak sent a nod Prime's way, then he made for the door Ratchet now had open, Arcee and Firestar beside him. Thundercracker would be slipping in ahead of them.

It was all assumption, for both the Neutral and Broadcast were to maintain radio silence until the particulars of their mission were complete. The catch with the granted technology was that the Autobots couldn't track Thundercracker, either.

Optimus peered across the deck, wary. Other than his troops thudding down the stairs there was no noise. He suspected that a good portion of Tidal Wave's energy reserves were being used in the experiment, or else they would have been dealing with a defense attack by now. He scanned the sky and caught a glimpse of something rocketing through the clouds from the opposite direction of where the Hercules had gone. He readied his cannon, tracking the pale shape.

* * *

Hook glanced up as Tidal Wave's growl echoed into the repair bay. "They are here."

"Keep working," Soundwave called from the catwalk to the left of the support ring that held Megatron's new body upright. "They are dead." He narrowed his optics as he triggered a remote scan of the path the Autobots were taking. He didn't pick up on the cracked Falxernian signature he had expected Thundercracker to give off. Perhaps the traitor had merely been playing the Autobots long enough to get repairs, and an upgrade on the side, and then abandoned them.

He looked down over the series of consoles and monitoring stations that surrounded Megatron. Each of the Constructicons had resumed overseeing their assigned stage in the procedures. Hook was securing their leader's spark chamber connections. Off to one side a smaller support structure, devoid of monitors and stabilizing equipment, held the damaged form of Dirge. He would have a perfect view of Megatron's impending resurrection. The Autobots were running right into their own destruction at the Decepticon leader's hands.

* * *

Ratchet halted, tensed to the point of sparking from his weapon arm. Arcee nearly bumped into him. She leaned around him to give him a questioning look. He tapped his wrist. Meanwhile, a few steps higher, Bluestreak and Firestar carried out a different silent conversation with gestures. It was all to buy a few more seconds for Thundercracker to enter the repair bay ahead of them.

At the same time, Ratchet began to wonder why Optimus had yet to follow them down or signal that he was distracted above. Of course, it depended on the distraction.

* * *

Thundercracker was pleased that the stealth technology augmented by Broadcast's abilities was working as planned. He had expected Soundwave to discover him -- knowing full well how thoroughly the communications specialist could cast a sensor scan. But he had made it to the bay unnoticed and now he edged inside, glancing to where Soundwave stood on a catwalk, then noting the Constructicons and the sorry state of Dirge. Lastly he gazed up at Megatron's new body. In some ways it resembled the last fearsome shell he had seen his former leader boast. In others it looked much more deadly. The optics were dark but an area of the chest was suffused with a blue glow. There was a possibility that they were already too late to stop it.

He picked his way around the room, stepping carefully over cables and avoiding Constructicons until he reached the structure holding Dirge. He studied the minimal patches that kept the wrecked mech together, then moved to his side, leaning close. From Dirge's exposed throat came sound -- he sang his own death song.

Thundercracker wondered for a second if the mech's audio receptors would be working. Trusting in Broadcast's jamming field to encompass them both, he whispered, "Dirge, do you want to live?"

The low singing stopped. The dim light in the wounded mech's optics shifted toward the voice, but he didn't give an indication of recognizing him. "I sacrifice my spark so Lord Megatron may live."

"Idiot. They are sacrificing you _to_ Megatron. He will live before your spark would be transferred to him. Can you not tell from this equipment?"

The dim cameras looked downward, following the path of one cable, then another, of the numerous ones snaking along the floor. None connected to anything near him. He began to pull at one of his stripped arms but he was securely bound. Thundercracker put an invisible hand on his shoulder, again whispering, "Do not resist yet. There _will_ be a chance. The others betrayed you and insulted you. They will know their fallacy. I ask only that you cooperate for now. I will free you when the opportunity comes."

Dirge lowered his gaze again and resumed his mournful droning. There was a slight change to it. Thundercracker took that as a sign and quickly looked toward Soundwave. The communications officer still appeared oblivious, focused on what Hook was currently doing. Broadcast tapped his shoulder and Thundercracker added his own low rumble to Dirge's song. Now the trapped warrior accepted the sign and changed the frequency of his droning, a subtle turn to affect only the other Decepticons. Soundwave was not the only one who knew how to slip below the audio radar. Thundercracker then moved away to a position lining up better with the main console. Broadcast could use it for an emergency spark transfer. It wasn't as safe as a spark chamber transplant, but it was a chance they could use.

Hook gave a signal to Scrapper. As the machine powered up Thundercracker felt Broadcast brace his hands on his upper right chest plate, the cable connecting him to the Neutral and his access to the stealth field about to slip free. Thundercracker wondered if he should do the small mech a favor and _toss_ him toward the console. A new low rumbling filled the air as the monitor showed Megatron's systems beginning to go green one by one. A few seconds more and the Decepticon leader's optics lit up. Struck with awe, Thundercracker drew air sharply through his intakes.

Then he felt Broadcast leave his shoulder, kicking him in the face on the way -- either from his haste to scramble off or on purpose to remind him of his new place. The second he left his perch he was visible. Thundercracker turned the invisibility field off altogether and opened fire with almost all of his available weapons, raining laser shots and small dart missiles everywhere except at the main console and the small mech sprinting toward it. As predicted his sudden appearance and assault gained all attention and inspired startled, almost frightened cries from the Decepticons on the floor -- with thanks to Dirge's singing upsetting their reasoning circuits. Broadcast was home free for those precious seconds.

"Alert! Alert!" Squawktalk shrieked, swooping down to shoot at Thundercracker.

"We noticed!" Scrapper snarled. His back plating rearranged into a missile launcher and immediately let loose a barrage.

Thundercracker then noticed he had chosen the exact worse spot in the room to stand. Without vital equipment behind him no one was going to hold back. He dodged the retaliatory shots and ran toward a more suitable position, taking hits from Hook, Long Haul, and Scavenger on the way. A beep sounded over his internal comm link, signalling that Ratchet was in position. He kept moving to get further away from Dirge to minimize fallout on the wounded mech.

New weapons fire joined but not aimed at him -- the other Autobots had gotten inside the bay and were, thankfully, distracting some of the Decepticons from him. The air quickly filled with flashing lasers, smoke, and the smell of scorched metal.

Meanwhile, Broadcast reached the main console, Rhythm and Blues leaping from his back as he leapt up, all three landing on the control pad. In a split second they were inputting the modification commands that Ratchet transmitted from his safer field of observation. Then Broadcast used his own cables to connect into the system directly.

The intrusion set off Hook's internal alarm, drawing his attention from Arcee, who had been running along the second catwalk while she fired down on him and Scavenger. He wanted to yell at Soundwave, but the communications officer was busy grappling with another of the Autobots. Hook _had_ noticed that none of them were targetting the equipment, which would have been the quickest way to stop the operation. They wanted something first, and the little scraplet's efforts gave him a clue. As he shot at the small Autobot he wondered at the chance that they knew about the composite spark.

Ratchet saw where Hook had aimed and did not doubt that the laser bolt would hit true. He took control of Blues, making the minimech jump to block the debilitating hit. Broadcast felt a wave of electronic feedback from the violent termination of his link to the smaller bot, but he ignored it, keeping his focus on the input sequence.

That was all the medic could do, for he was swiftly cornered by Mixmaster and had to dodge a chemical stream blasted from a shoulder cannon. The spatter hissed on his armor. He hoped it wasn't the type that kept on dissolving through Autobot-grade circuitry. It did nothing to the floor and walls, but Tidal Wave was probably protected against any accidents on Mixmaster's part. Ratchet signalled Arcee to send some backup shots his way.

Firestar was not a powerhouse like Chromia, but she did well in hand-to-hand combat. Using her folded rotor blades as _tonfas_ along both her arms, she battled Soundwave on the catwalk, determined to keep him distracted with preserving his shell and stop him from unleashing any audible or subliminal attacks on her comrades. She was supposed to be avoiding as much damage as possible due to her role in the evacuation, but with Ratchet busy below, Bluestreak better suited as artillery, and Optimus still absent, someone had to deal with Soundwave. She was glad for the one advantage they did have over the Decepticons: none of _them_ would be setting off anything big enough to take down all of the Autobots at once with all of this important equipment around and Megatron not yet revived. As long as the Stunticons didn't suddenly burst in they might have a chance.

Then Megatron uttered a roar that shook the rafters.

* * *

Optimus identified the object as an MQ-1 Predator. It didn't seem like a useful form for a Decepticon, but he remained wary as it continued to approach. He was unsure why the humans would send it so soon -- it hadn't been in the plan he had discussed with Banachek, and the base where they had boarded the Hercules had not been preparing any observation craft. He scanned it as it flew over. It appeared to be perfectly normal. He gazed after it, thinking. There was still a possibility that it was one of Soundwave's minions.

All doubt about the true nature of the Predator was removed when a missile swirled out of the clouds and detonated the craft. It was not a Decepticon. But the rust-colored figure plummeting toward him was. "Foolish, Prime! Foolish!" Thrust declared as he launched a missile toward the Autobot leader.

Optimus shot it out of the air and aimed to do the same to Thrust. The flier transformed into an F-16 and blasted skyward again. Prime tracked him and hoped he came into range before Thrust obtained another target lock on _him._

He didn't notice the second F-16 coming in behind him until the tell-tale transformation reached his audio receptors. He turned just in time to catch Ramjet in the chest, the Decepticon laughing as the momentum carried them both across the deck and almost over the edge. Ramjet used a directional booster to get himself clear, but Optimus had to grab for a handhold. He caught himself in time and rolled away from the edge and brought up his gun. Ramjet had flown back up but now Thrust dove in for a new assault.

* * *

An answering noise thundered through the repair bay, shaking the floor and vibrating off the consoles nearest to Thundercracker. He drew himself up to his full height and let his deep drone do its psychological work on the Constructicons. He knew his range covered the floor, but he held no delusion that it would work on Megatron.

Hook was trying to fight off the effects, irritated that he had underestimated both Dirge and Thundercracker. "Squawktalk!" he bellowed, pointing toward Broadcast. As the bird-mech circled to swoop in, Megatron himself snarled and reached toward the main console.

Broadcast grabbed Rhythm, pulling one of the connection cables from his own head and plugging it into the back of the minimech's cranium then pushing Rhythm down flat on the console top. Then he turned with optics blazing as Megatron's hand snatched at him. He leapt upward over the closing digits, then emitted a burst of static as Squawktalk veered toward him. The bird screeched and jerked out of control, smashing into Megatron's hand. The Decepticon leader snarled again and flicked his wrist, sending Squawktalk into a painful collision with the nearest wall.

In that moment of distraction Broadcast turned and jammed another of his cables into the data upload ports, inputting the final reversal code. He then played a disruptive signal sequence, hoping it would register before Megatron could grab him.

A roar of pain told him it had. Broadcast turned again, keeping Rhythm behind him. He took quick note of where everyone was, seeking out Ratchet. He was by Dirge, working to get the damaged mech mobile while Thundercracker defended them both from Long Haul and Scavenger. The other Constructicons had been forced to take cover from the constant rain of fire from Bluestreak and Arcee, who also lent a shot or two toward Soundwave to assist Firestar.

That was all he had time to take in. He felt a surge coming through the cables and braced himself. Megatron thrashed within the support ring, his optics ablaze and his hands grasping at his chest -- over his spark case. His gaze fell on the small Autobot and he roared, reaching for him again. Broadcast flared his LED screen to a searing white as the Decepticon leaned close -- then it abruptly went even brighter as the surge hit him. His limbs jerked out straight. He caught a glimpse of Megatron leering -- he had augmented the surge.

Broadcast wanted to curse but he couldn't make a sound. He concentrated on the fact that Rhythm was behind him and so far was safe. He brightened his optics of his own volition, then narrowed them and forced his limbs to work as he took a defiant stance. Megatron was not about to intimidate him. He reached for the spark energy signature he knew was there and _called to it._

The response was almost immediate. He felt another surge, this one not random but familiar and grateful. Broadcast shuttered his optics and fed out data that would guide it along the lines to where it should go. "NO!!" Megatron howled. A second sentient surge raced after the first.

With that unexpected threat, Broadcast feared there wouldn't be time to finish the relay as planned. He opened his optics and reached out with his spark energy to meet and absorb the first surge. After drawing it back into him through the cable a fiercely pulsing glow ignited beneath his chest plate. His body spasmed, unable to hold so much spark energy at once. He grabbed for the connecting cables, only able to yank one of them free before the servos in his right arm blew out.

The second surge was closing in, and although there was no direct connection to him anymore, there was still a path through the console that he needed to sever. He grabbed for another of his head cables to plug into Rhythm. His LED screen went critical and exploded, but he forced his left arm to respond and get the new cable connected to the minimech. As his circuits sizzled he could only hope the energy flow would work. He was out of time.

In a shower of sparks Broadcast dropped, twitching, on top of the console. He was unaware of the missile that impacted at the base of the console, sending him and Rhythm flying and detonating the console itself.

Megatron's shell collapsed against the support ring, inducing a groan-like creak from the structure.

Thundercracker stood with a smoking arm cannon, still braced for the recoil, his upper body heaving from the rapid air intake.

Several seconds passed where everything seemed to stop. Soundwave froze in the middle of an upper cut to Firestar's jaw. Bluestreak's target on Mixmaster blipped. Scavenger halted just as he was about to pivot and drive a blade into Ratchet's cranium, the medic about to duck and drag Dirge with him out of the way.

Tidal Wave voiced his displeasure and shifted in the water, throwing everyone off their feet. Arcee let herself slid from the catwalk, aiming to land on a monitor and then jump to the floor, mindful of a damaged left arm. She ran toward Broadcast and Rhythm, scooping them up in her good arm then making a dash for a way out. She trusted in Firestar to follow. Whatever waited outside that had engaged Prime, they had a mission to finish.

Ratchet hauled Dirge up and kept an arm around him, more than just half-carrying him toward the exit with all haste. The medic fully expected someone to stop them and was tensed for an impact. A rain of bullets followed on his heels, but it was a defensive wall provided by Bluestreak.

The gunner signalled to Firestar to break away from Soundwave, a missile launcher forming up from his shoulder simultaneously. She dove aside, righted herself, then pounded across the catwalk to the doorway leading out. While still covering Ratchet's retreat, Bluestreak used a secondary system to lock on to Soundwave and fire.

The Decepticon countered the missile with a blast of concussive sound, disrupting its course and sending it off to explode in mid-air. It wasn't powerful enough to reach Bluestreak, so he shot at the Autobot instead, hitting the missile launcher and destroying it before Bluestreak could cycle another missile into place. The gunner dropped to a crouch, gripping his shoulder in pain. He shifted to aim his rifle at Soundwave. A buzz on his internal comm distracted him. _"Go!"_ Thundercracker called over the line. "I can cover the retreat."

Bluestreak glanced past the railing to where the recovered Constructicons were ganging up on the Neutral. "No. I won't leave you here alone."

"You'll get caught in the boom! Go, _now!"_

A deep rumble was gathering from Thundercracker's side of the bay, more ominous than the one before. Bluestreak was torn, but he did know what that mech could do when he cut loose with his specialized weapon. The Autobot got off one round of bullets in Soundwave's direction before fleeing for the exit. The rumble kept building and he hadn't yet reached the doorway when he had to clutch at his head. He pushed onward, knowing the headache would be worse for the Decepticons.

He worried, however, when a new protest came from Tidal Wave along with another shift in the water.

* * *

Arcee ran out onto the deck and found it slick with water. The aircraft carrier's unnatural motion was stirring up the sea. The two jets that were buzzing a down and wounded Optimus probably weren't helping, either.

"Prime!" She was afraid when he didn't rise, yet she did see his head turn in her direction. She hoped that he saw Broadcast and Rhythm in her arms. She couldn't form a weapon to help him without putting them down. Fortunately, the sight seemed to rouse some strength, for he stood and... opened himself to attack.

He was keeping their focus on him. She withdrew to the cover of the tower to await Firestar. She had to keep the two small mechs safe. She scanned them, wondering if both of them would still be online by the time they reached the Ark. Both had active spark energy -- the pulsating glow continued beneath Broadcast's chest plate -- but the readings were horribly irregular. Broadcast smelled of burnt wiring more than anything else and she couldn't tell from the scan what was going on internally with Rhythm. She hoped it wasn't actually Megatron inhabiting the minimech.

Firestar emerged from the tower with Ratchet close behind, Dirge in tow. The medic took a glance toward Prime, frowned, then set the wounded jet down and began field repairs on his legs. Dirge's optics were dim and he seemed unresponsive both physically and emotionally. Arcee wondered what they were going to do with him. His reputation wasn't any better than Thundercracker's.

"Let's go!" Firestar called to the other femme, transforming. She opened her cargo door and Arcee placed Broadcast and Rhythm inside then carefully climbed in after, folding herself up as tightly as possible. There would be room to maneuver after the door was closed. Trusting that Prime could keep Thrust and Ramjet occupied, Firestar lifted off and flew with all haste toward Edwards Air Force Base. Her flyby would be the signal for the Hercules to return and pick up the other Autobots, if at all possible. Tidal Wave was still a factor in that plan.

Arcee rested her head on the floor, cycling air in a tense sigh. There was no guarantee the rescue had worked, but at least it seemed they had stopped the resurrection of Megatron. Now they just needed to stop the rest of the Decepticons before they could enact retribution for it.

She felt something tap her arm. She glanced over and saw Rhythm gazing back at her, a small smile visible below the glowing visor. She smiled back.

Firestar hailed her on a secure link before she could try to speak with the minimech. "Arcee, we're over Edwards, but something isn't right... Can you confirm if I give you an opening?"

Arcee shifted around to free one arm fully so she could hold Broadcast and Rhythm to the side, ensuring they didn't accidentally fall out. "Go ahead," she answered, rapping on the section of floor closest to her head. Panels shifted away and she was given a square-shaped hole to view the ground below. They were flying at the maximum altitude for a rescue chopper, although it didn't take much zooming in to spot what was bothering Firestar. Instead of the Hercules, there were a pair of Lancers on the runway.

"That wasn't in the plan, but it would be sufficient force to deal a blow to Tidal Wave," Arcee said over the line. "I'm going to radio the base, but maybe Keller sent word for the military to help. The Hercules could have been routed to another air strip to give them room."

"Yes, call them. It would also signal them to send out the Hercules if they have not noticed us yet." Firestar closed the 'window' and flew lower.

Arcee leaned on her elbow as she opened a channel to the base. "This is Autobot Arcee, calling Edwards. Our operation is complete. You may proceed with extraction." She waited several seconds for an affirmative reply. When none came, she repeated the message.

"Firestar," she called in a wary tone. "They are not responding."

"It is worse than that," the other femme replied as she rose sharply. "There is a missile silo opening down there. Unless there is another critical event somewhere we missed, I can make only one guess at its target. I'm warning Prime now...perhaps he can get through to them."

Arcee clenched her fists. Such a thing was so extreme, and not something to be taken lightly by other countries who kept an eye on the United States' militaristic ventures. But even if the humans had decided to deal with the Decepticons themselves, they couldn't have been intending to launch it right away since the rest of Optimus' team would have nowhere to go to escape the blast radius.

**To Be Continued**


	9. Chapter 8

**Renewal - Part Eight**

In Washington there was no speculation on what was going on at Edwards.

There was panic.

Calls were being made, orders were being issued, countermeasures were being planned. They couldn't get through to the base to demand an explanation. It all served to prove Reggie Simmons right. Keller couldn't believe the man had managed to do what entire agencies could not. On the other hand, he was glad to have him on their side with a great deal of the history of Sector Seven at his disposal. It was more than he could say for other former agents.

* * *

_Earlier..._

_"Lady and gentlemen, it's on us to save the world again."_

After Simmons had rattled off his list of findings, Keller stared solemnly at the screen. "Are you absolutely certain of this?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"You understand the repercussions if we act on this information?"

"I do, sir. I'd stake my life on it."

Keller exhaled through his nose and glanced to the others. Epps both looked like he had been punched and like he wanted to punch someone, which was understandable given that this all showed that his department had been ineffectual. Maggie seemed to be mentally planning for her role. Glen, again, appeared to be sadly out of place.

"Personally," Simmons offered, "I'm glad no one was able to activate all of the experiments back at the old HQ. Half an army of anti-giant alien robot civvies is bad enough."

"But most of them _are_ civilians, right?" Epps asked. "What do these people plan to do _next_ if they manage to kick the 'Bots and 'Cons off the planet? Go back to their lives and expect us to just let it pass?"

"Most of them are," Reggie answered. "Some are former Sector Seven members. Low-level guys, at least. The remaining Five are still integrated elsewhere."

"I've got another question," Maggie piped up. "What do those people expect to do if more of either faction show up?"

They all traded grim looks. Glen snapped out of his daze. "I'll do you one better: What'll they do if _both_ factions come wanting to get revenge for the guys that got destroyed?"

"We might find out," Keller said darkly. "Epps, Celzer, when we're done here I need you to head upstairs." The two men nodded. "You." He turned to the screen and pointed at Simmons. "You alert me the second you come up with the slightest iota of anything useful."

He was answered with a salute. "Yessir."

"Ms. Madsen--" He turned to the two hackers. "We're going to need your partner."

"About him," Simmons interjected, partially raising a hand to get Maggie's attention. "Prowl wants to know if there's any new data on Bombshell or the other bug. We're on the lookout and waiting to hear if anything has happened to turn up at Autobase."

"We're still working on cracking the second one. There's a lot of kickback on the lines."

"Gotcha. We'll leave it at that. Bigger stuff to do now." He nodded to Keller.

The Secretary of Defense was staring hard at the far wall in thought, trying to decide what further resources they could call on. Everything he could think of was in the hands of the person he had _thought_ he could trust with it. "Blasted Sector Seven secrets," he muttered. He glared at Reggie even though he wasn't the actual target of his ire. "At least tell me there isn't some super weapon gleaned from Megatron that was in mothballs somewhere."

"None. That I know of. But believe me, sir, if there was anything else I could think of, I'd have told you. The Old Man's secrets are mine."

"Then let's hope Banachek doesn't have some of his own." Keller looked around at his latest team. "Let's get to work, people, and stop these turkeys before they hurt someone."

* * *

_Currently..._

Maggie had not been surprised by how fast a room with Cybertronian access had been set up. Granted, Rattlelatch had needed to drive inside, but there had been enough space in the room itself for him to transform.

Glen had stared at her in consternation. "You never told me your new car was one of them!"

All she could do was shrug. "It was confidential."

"Yeah, whatever. Someone still owes me a phone."

The Autobot was now seated in the middle of the floor, using a keyboard built into his arm while several cables ran out from his personal hardware to the computers on opposite sides where she, Glen, and two official NSA agents were working. Their job was to hack into the Edwards base's system and stop the launch of any major weaponry, as well as try to ground to a halt any operations related to the takeover and intercept communications linked to the group.

At the moment they were attempting to crack base security with Rattlelatch's code leading. He had been the one to set up the advanced protection for the government, but it looked like someone had come along who knew how to modify it even further. This, in turn, irritated the minibot. Maggie couldn't remember if she had ever seen him truly angry. Of course, she could appreciate a hacker who didn't like anyone messing with his code.

"Glen, can you run a bypass over two-five-Q-eight?" Rattlelatch called out.

"Override twenty-six S?"

"You got it."

"On it."

Maggie smiled. Those two were getting along perfectly. When this crazy mess was over she didn't doubt Glen would ask to hang out with her and her car more. Maybe after this he would be inducted into the NSA service, too. She left off that thought as a stream of data scrolled up on her screen. "ISOC? Looks like I've got their intelligence mandate..." Her fingers clicked over keys as she tried to dig further into the files. "No, nevermind. It's turning out to be gibberish, except for these letters. ISOC," she repeated, glancing at the senior analyst.

"Send it to Epps," the older woman replied, looking over from her own station. "It might give him something more to go off of."

"Send it here, too, Mags," Rattlelatch said. "I can see if there's anything under the gibberish." She nodded and did both requests. Rattlelatch's optics moved back and forth as if he was reading something. "What the heck? This isn't like any coding of mine or even Decepticon work. It looks like..." He stopped cold.

Maggie turned in her chair, eying him with trepidation. "What, 'Latch?"

He started typing furiously on his keyboard. "I've seen something like this before, used by a Cybertronian borrowing from another race. I wouldn't expect him to use it twice, but I guess he thought you would never be able to crack it... Almost got confirmation. Yes. Frag. Swindle."

Glen now turned as well. "And that means, what?"

"It's his name. I used to deal with him before -- uh, before I joined the Autobots. He's a tech dealer and is amazingly good at convincing any given being that they need what he's got to sell. But he's more a Decepticon than a Neutral, so I don't know why he would dare to associate with anything involving destruction of high-ranking Decepticons unless he thinks something big will work in his favor, because I doubt he has use for anythi..."

"'Latch?"

"Sector Seven tech," he responded grimly. "Banachek has something Swindle wants. It could explain this whole apparent betrayal." He looked pained for a moment. "Could explain where all those people got the nerve to do this, too. But I have no idea what he could possibly want."

"We could ask Simmons," Maggie said. "And we need to tell Secretary Keller _now."_

* * *

"I want another C-130 on standby. Track down the first one, stat!" Keller gripped the railing of the walkway above the monitoring room as he waited for reports. He was still irritated that Tom Banachek was behind the base takeover. All he had to go on was evidence presented by Simmons because no new information had come out of Edwards yet. The thought that Banachek had enough people on his side to infiltrate and take over a U.S. military base disturbed the Secretary of Defense to no end. Had they even needed to infiltrate it? Had the personnel on base been in agreement with Banachek when he showed up, possibly claiming a matter of national security? ARROW had been given some power in that manner in order to collect foreign artifacts, and if abused, the current situation was an outcome.

"Sir," a uniformed agent presented him with a PDA. "A message from the data extraction team."

Keller activated the screen. "Please tell me you found out how they could take over an entire base without us knowing." His aggravation was clear.

"With help," Rattlelatch replied. He described Swindle and gave his suspicions.

Keller wanted to throw his hands up in exasperation. "I'm getting tired of these robots in disguise popping up everywhere! When this is over I want a device built that can tell me if something has a spark in it or not!"

"If we had one of those, sir, we would have stopped the Decepticons ages ago. You would still have to get around the ones that can mask their spark signature."

Keller scowled, not appreciating the comment regardless of unintended sarcasm. "Tell me how we can counter this Swindle character."

"I need more information first. We're trying to find any indication that he's on the base and somehow I need to confirm if he has any weapons of mass persuasion in use."

"Do it. I'll see about getting your team more eyes." He pocketed the PDA and strode toward one of the exits. He paused long enough to point at a man seated at a switchboard. "Get me the Ark. Route it to room two."

As he walked out, a security agent swift to follow, he debated the plausibility of a potential plan. Given the latest roster information, there was but one Autobot available who might be able to fly in to Edwards to create a diversion long enough for reconnaissance to get in. But only one against so many humans and their assumed to be appropriated weapons would not go well -- either people would be harmed or the Autobot would be destroyed. He needed the shock of the SOCCENT attack without the massacre.

The security agent remained outside as Keller entered the conference room. The screen was already active, with Simmons in place looking thoroughly engaged in something on a screen below the camera, the changing light playing off his features. Keller sat down and waited on confirmation of audio before speaking. "Simmons, put Prowl on and get me Lennox. See if they can patch us through to Autobase, too."

"Already here, John Keller." A smaller window opened inset on the lower left of the screen, displaying Prowl's face. "I will add Autobase to the line, although Chromia's team is still en route."

"Who's in command at the base right now?"

"Tracks."

"Good. He's who I want to talk to."

Prowl gave a nod and another small window opened on the lower right. It was dark for a few seconds, then a looped message began to scroll across it informing of an impending connection.

In the meantime, Simmons moved off screen and Lennox took his place. "Mister Secretary, sir."

"Lennox, can you contact ARROW headquarters? I need you to issue an order in Banachek's stead."

"I can try, sir." He flicked a glance in the direction Simmons had gone. "We haven't been able to get ahold of the agents still in the field, but we're fairly certain that not all of ARROW is involved."

"Affirmative." Keller held out hope that men like Breckstein were still on their side. "See if you can get through to Powerglide and let him know of the situation. If he's willing to help, we'll take it."

Lennox nodded and ducked off screen. Keller could see another Autobot moving in the background, a schematic hologram displayed above his arm as he worked to take some wires and motherboards out of a console. He didn't try to guess what it was for.

Tracks' image appeared in the second small window, but as he was offering a greeting Prowl's face suddenly changed to a look of surprise. For a moment Keller feared an attack of some sort was occurring at the Ark, then he heard a complaint from the Autobot on the main screen. "Aw, I just got all this junk out of here!" Not an attack, but some kind of project.

Prowl seemed to be smiling when he addressed the Secretary of Defense again. "We may have another addition to what I deduce is your plan. We recovered a scout shuttle from within the Ark but were uncertain if it could be made to fly under Earth's gravity. It is not yet confirmed if it can clear the atmosphere, but the test Huffer was conducting has proven that it _can _fly."

That might create another headache later, Keller realized, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it. "How many of you can it hold?" Size related to the amount of headache.

"Two minibots. Huffer created the modifications so he would be the best one to fly it. Windcharger would be my recommendation for accompanying fighter."

"Prowl," Tracks interrupted, "Data parameter request." In seconds the warrior's expression became one of horror as Prowl transmitted all relevant information on the matter at hand. "But -- _why?_ I thought the humans were on our side..." He looked summarily _crushed._

"Not everyone differentiates between good and evil," Keller said solemnly. "All they see are invading aliens. Even if they didn't, they could be seeing this situation as paying the cost of Autobot lives in exchange for stopping the most dangerous threat this planet has ever seen."

"Well, they could have waited until we _failed_ first." An angry noise filled the line from Autobase.

"Easy, Tracks," Prowl warned. "This is not over yet."

"Right," Keller said, taking charge of things again albeit aware that he would now be sending a very angry, big soldier into the field. "Prowl, has Firestar arrived yet?"

"ETA twenty minutes."

"Let me know when she's ready to head out again. Tracks, how fast do you think you can reach the Ark?"

"Assuming you mean fly there, forty minutes if I push it to Mach Two."

"I do. Prowl, how fast is that shuttle?"

"In space about the equivalent of Mach Seven. Again, I cannot confirm the effect of Earth's gravity."

"Fine. Has Lennox gotten through to Powerglide yet?"

Lennox himself moved back into frame again on the main screen. There was that look of wanting to punch someone again. "Sorry, sir. There's another problem. I have ARROW HQ, and I can confirm that these guys aren't with Banachek, but they're locked out of the hangar."

"What's going on _inside_ the hangar?"

Lennox hit a button that brought up another window, this one showing a frazzled Breckstein at the receiver and a view of a set of blast doors behind him, several ARROW agents either trying to hold them closed or get them open. There were dents of varying shapes protruding outward from the doors. "He got us out, but he's locked in with them!" Breckstein cried.

_"Which_ them?" Keller demanded.

"The machines! The machines are revolting!"

"Sonofab--" Reggie swore from off screen. "They did activate them."

"I can't tell you who did," Breckstein said hurriedly, "But we can stop them. The weapons are inside, too, and that's why I don't think it was Powerglide who locked the doors."

Keller took out the PDA and activated it to call Rattlelatch. The minibot peered back quizzically. "Sorry, sir, I don't have anything new for you yet."

"That's fine. I have a new job for you. I need you to hack ARROW headquarters and get some doors open."

"ARROW..?" Rattlelatch grimaced. "They've got some nasty stuff in their firewall." When he received a hard stare, he added in a mumble, "Um, I was bored one day..."

"Just do it. Powerglide is in trouble. Simmons!"

Again Reggie and Will traded places on the screen. "Sir?"

"This is the second thing today that looks to be all Sector Seven's fault. I want a list of your personal inventory and anything else you even suspect anyone in that organization was hiding under a rug, mattress, or national monument -- before anything else blows up in our faces!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later at the Ark, Firestar landed and there was a rush to get Broadcast and Rhythm to the med bay. Huffer temporarily abandoned the scout shuttle to help, checking the calibration of the equipment on the two repair tables and hooking Rhythm up to a recharge feed while Moonracer had her attention on Broadcast. His spark was clearly online but his body was completely fried so she had no idea what exact condition his spark was in. When she was able to remove the dead metal and attach a monitor to his spark chamber, she could only stare at the readings. "This is off the scale! Arcee, what did he _do?"_

The other femme had stayed to see if she could help. "I didn't see, and Ratchet didn't have time to assess anything himself. I just acted, after Thundercracker blew up the main console connected to Megatron and they were thrown from it."

"My spark," croaked Rhythm from the other table, the gravelly voice of Jazz evident through the previously unused vocalizer. He put a hand to his throat, aware of the calibration problem, but kept trying to talk. _"Our_ spark." He held up two fingers together, then separated them. "Gotta be."

Moonracer followed what he was saying. "He did something so that the spark ended up joined again, then when it split he ended up with a bigger share of it instead of it being equally separated. But...I cannot relieve any of the pressure. It might kill him." She walked around the table, activating various autonomous tools from the overhead medical array and getting them connected to Broadcast. "I am putting him on life support for now, it will give us time to find an option or contact Ratchet for advice, whichever comes first."

"I hope we can speak to Ratchet soon," Arcee said with apprehension. "The status of the Edwards base when we flew in was not what I would call encouraging."

Moonracer turned to a small monitor on the edge of the table and pulled up another list of readings. "Then we do our work, they do theirs. I hope Huffer's plan works." Her optics dimmed as she scrolled through the list. "His processors are intact, currently in shut down mode but I think I can bring them to stand by mode to protect the data, and so he will know he is on support and with us." After a few minutes of work she stepped back, optics dimmed again. "That's it for now. The best solution would be a whole new spark chamber, but..." She left off, glancing pointedly around the med bay at the distinct lack of completed spark chambers laying around. "Huffer could whip one up I'm sure. There is just no time right now..."

"He would understand." Arcee put a hand on her arm.

Moonracer nodded. "So we will do what we can." She turned to Rhythm-become-Jazz. "Let us start with your vocalizer and go from there."

He punched a fist into the air. "Right on."

She was sure he had plenty more to say.

Later, after Arcee had left to be debriefed by Prowl and Moonracer was gathering the needed supplies, Jazz was sitting on Broadcast's table as close as he could get without being in the way of any life support connections. It felt somewhat strange. He had been fine with being the smallest Autobot on Prime's team, yet now he was smaller than some human children.

But he _was_ alive. His spark wasn't what it used to be, and he could feel the difference as well as feel the strain from Broadcast's uneven half. He began to wonder if they could try to join the spark again and get it to split evenly. But he knew that it could be risky, and Broadcast would have to be conscious for such an attempt.

"Y'know, bro, it kinda loses the point if you die tryin' to save me."

* * *

"Locks released at ARROW headquarters!" Rattlelatch announced to the room at large. He also used his internal connection to project his own image to Breckstein's console. "Get that mech out of there!"

The beleaguered agent had already turned, drawn by the opening blast doors. Rattlelatch and Keller could see the shadow of Powerglide near the entrance, deformed by the addition of numerous small, multi-legged shapes through the continuing camera feed. The microphone picked up the shouts from the ARROW agents as they came to his aid.

Unlike the Secretary of Defense, Rattlelatch could refine the images and use shadows and reflections to get a better account of what was going on, and so he saw the effectiveness of the hither-to unknown "anti-cyb" guns on the small, Allspark-spawned human tech mechanoids. While he didn't know what the humans were calling the weapon, the concept left an unsettled feeling in him. He filed the data away and pulled out of ARROW's security system, leaving a digital trap behind to deter another hacking attempt. He kept one connection open so he could check on Powerglide's condition later.

He jumped right back into the Edwards mission, now armed with an idea that he put into effect as he picked up the data threads from the other stations. "Hold on, guys."

Glen lifted his hands from the keys as his work was snatched away. "Hey, don't mess with my zen like that!"

"Sorry," the Autobot apologized, "But I need to do this a while it's hot."

Glen pushed up his glasses as he tried to keep up with the coding scrolling on his screen. "Ohh. Nice!" He clappd his hands and pointed at Rattlelatch. "Crashed the party at ARROW and turned the trick on them. Dude, I love the way you think."

"Thanks. This will give us a little more time, at least. If we can't stop them right away we can jam things up to delay them, and no matter who they have helping them they won't be able to untangle this code for a while. Missile silos locked down, and...go. If we can get a bird to Tidal Wave we might get the 'Bots out before those bombers can sink the ship. Mister Secretary," he called out loud and over the personal PDA, "If you've got someone willing to fly it under that chance, please get the extraction underway. I'll try to stop the Lancers." He didn't mention that he would need to hack even further into the military network than he was supposedly allowed, but they wouldn't know and didn't need to be told yet. No one had seen fit to share aRROW's new weapons information after all. Rattlelatch was of the opinion that the humans had too many subdivisions and none of them had the right security programming.

Before he could move to the next thing, a data packet slipped through from the Edwards network. He probed it for bugs, erected a firewall around it to contain it just in case, then triggered it to open. It was a file with audio and internal video. When he saw who it was from he prepared to translate it to be projected to the humans' monitors in case it was relevant.

"Heeey, 'Latch, long time no talk. I knew if you were around you would crack this. Of course, that's why I used this code. I seem to have made a miscalculation and...ah...I need your help. And the help of your friends. And any friends they have." He watched the rest of the message, made sure there were no bugs to set off at the end, then hailed Keller again.

This time he cut in on the conference screen itself to address the Ark and Autobase as well. "I have news. I... don't know how you want to take this." He replayed the video of an all-red mech with a single large lense for a head and a television monitor visible in its chest, which was playing an image of an attractive human male in a pin-striped suit -- and his lips moved in time with the words. Watching it in the room with Rattlelatch, Maggie was struck with an impression of a suave car salesman.

"So, yeah, didn't mean for a real mess to come outta this, sorry about that. Wasn't my intention. Trust me, I'm paying for it. I shoulda known better than to get too involved with a group calling themselves the Indigenous Species Only Coalition. But, hey, helping the indigenous is what I'm all about! Nevermind, you know better than that. But I am seriously in trouble and I can help you if you help me. As a show of my faith, here's some more coding to get through the defenses. Just hurry,' cause they're draining my spark. And if anyone asks, the Pearl of Bahoudin is a lie."

Rattlelatch let the humans make of that what they would. He was busy inspecting the included codes. "These codes will kill the power to the entire base," he said with satisfaction. "As long as they aren't using Swindle as a back up generator we just have to worry about the vehicles on the runway."

In the conference room Keller was still coping with Swindle's message. It gave a name to the acronym Maggie had turned up earlier, ISOC. He was most worried about what device Banachek had that could drain a Cybertronian's spark. If the rest of ISOC was in on it, genocide could be the next step if their paln was to incapacitate all those aboard Tidal Wave and use the spark drain on them. So there was a superweapon, after all. "Rattlelatch, be ready to cut the power in five minutes." He had received a communication from an authorized agent that a Company of soldiers were ready to move in on Edwards and -- hopefully -- retake it without casualties. Human or Cybertronian. "Prowl, have Firestar and Tracks move out, but hold back until deemed absolutely necessary."

"Yessir."

"Affirmative." Prowl also sent a private message to the minibot. "And Rattlelatch, please stop cutting in to the communication lines without notice. It is disconcerting."

"Sorry, sir. I considered it to be emergency data." He resented the reprimand. The humans remembered that he had programmed half the system, didn't they? He couldn't wait to go back to working on the outside with Maggie. Having to adhere to official protocols was too limiting.

That was assuming things would go back to normal after this.

An alert sounded throughout the building and a new message came up on Keller's end. "Mister Secretary! This -- _jet_ -- just appeared out of nowhere right outside! No noise, no evidence of a landing -- one minute there was nothing, the next, there it was!" The Autobots still on the line made it their business to non-obtrusively pick up the video feed of a black F-16 with purple detailing sitting on the street. It began to transform.

In the hacking team's room, Rattlelatch went deathly still and stared at thin air while his gaze was affixed to the image on his HUD, chilled to his superstructure. He managed to open another frequency. "Trailbreaker--"

"I know, 'Latch. I'm on my way out. You keep up with what you're doing, and maybe think of a way to aid in your way after."

"B-But I'm still the only back up if you can't--"

"Focus on the task you were given."

"'Latch?" Maggie called. His frozen stare was worrying her. He lowered his head to look at her and she saw that he was scared.

Upstairs, Epps had responded to the alert by yanking off his tie. "Can I go kick some giant robot butt now?"

Another official pointed him in the direction of the defense coordinators. "Yes."

"THANK you!" He took off down the hall, itching to trade his monkey suit for real combat gear. "By the way -- I quit!"

* * *

A minute later Rattlelatch cut the power at Edwards. All systems on the base were shut down, including a particular alien device and all the back up generators. Within one building a relieved cry of, "Thank The Vok!" came from one particular P.O.W.. Meanwhile, almost everyone operating the base looked around in a daze, having trouble remembering what they had been doing a second ago. Their confusion was quickly added to when they collectively found themselves at gunpoint and being told to stand down. Logic dictated that they each surrender until someone could explain things.

Only one man wasn't effected, and he watched from a secure room in the captive's building as his plan was undone. He wasn't entirely disappointed, he had expected some resistance. He calmly walked into the hangar where Swindle was secured and released the bonds holding the Cybertronian to the wall.

Swindle rubbed his wrists, his chest screen displaying one of his human facades. "Banachek, baby, let's talk, all right? We're both men of shrewd intellect, I'm sure we can come to a reasonable agreement--"

"You're not a man. Transform _now."_

The Cybertronian was compelled to obey. Oh, how he hated Sector Seven. He took the form of a red sports car and although he opened his passenger side door, Tom stood by the driver's side. _"I'm_ driving." The one door closed and Banachek opened the other for himself.

Another screen was built into the dashboard and also displayed a charming human face. "Since you've got me in this deal anyway, why don't you fill me in on how this all works -- not your crazy plan of betrayal, but how you got into manipulating Cybertron-based tech. It's not like I can tell anybody, right?"

"It isn't betrayal."

"Pardon my observation, then. I mean, I give you a means to mind control, you trick me -- _me,_ that was good, that's why I respect you -- and you have designs on destroying a unit of Autobots, who last I checked were your allies and were counting on you to get them out of a sticky situation. That all kind of adds up to what we in the business call _betrayal."_

"I don't have to explain anything to you. _Drive."_

"There are armed troops out there."

"You're armored. _Go."_

Swindle didn't know why Banachek bothered with the order. He had full control of the steering and acceleration. As they pulled out of the hangar, he mused, "You remind me of someone. Yes...I think I've got it. You sound just like that guy Starscream. If you weren't human, I would think you were a Decepticon!"

Banachek spun the steering wheel to the side, causing Swindle to scrape up against a wall. The mech protested with a digitized cry, the image on his screen reacting in accord, but Banachek didn't let up. He was perfectly safe where he was, but Swindle's outer shell could only hold up so long. While it wasn't likely to cause major damage, it would eventually become painful. Fortunately for him Banachek ran out of wall and straightened the car out. He was heading off the base, and did have one option to get past the incoming soldiers. Swindle had his own stealth shield. In retrospect the mech saw that he had made himself into the perfect vehicle of retribution for a wild card from a secret organization that played with aliens. Of course, he had never thought he would get caught like this. He admired the humans' cleverness and hated it at the same time.

He prepared another data packet for Rattlelatch. It would be difficult to get it through without being connected into a convenient network, but maybe wherever they were going there would be another computer system. He knew there had to be some technology of considerate power since Banachek had left all of the spark draining equipment behind. Yes, there had to be another set up somewhere, since the man was so calm about leaving the other behind. Swindle was half expecting an explosion behind them, knowing that such technology wouldn't be left out for just anyone to find. Unless Banachek was going to use it as an intimidation technique. _Hey, look what I have! I can suck out your spark and take control of your shell!_ Swindle might even have approved, if he hadn't ended up as the full-scale test subject.

But that was what he got for getting caught up in picturing how the Decepticons would pay anything for hundreds of the devices, and he had no trouble with how effectively it would annihilate the Autobots. Good thing he hadn't shared that idea so the word wouldn't get out, because now the only ones he could count on to help him _were_ the Autobots.

**To Be Continued**


	10. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: This is a last minute attempt to tie in Bumblebee's concern for Sam and Mikaela in Reunions to the new movie. I HAVE NOT SEEN REVENGE OF THE FALLEN YET. I DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING. DON'T POST COMMENTS WITH SPOILERS. This is also to tie in some pre-planned mixing with the Dreamwave universe, for, if you can spot the references, I'm throwing a little bit of every continuity in as I go along. ;)_

* * *

**Renewal - Part Nine**

"Prime! Down!"

Optimus threw himself to the deck as Bluestreak let fly a stream of rifle fire over him at Ramjet. His aim was true, striking a wound opened by Prime, and something exploded, causing the Decepticon to turn sideways and slam into Thrust. Both crashed onto the deck and slid just feet from Optimus. He paid them no heed as he hauled himself up and staggered over to join the rest of the team. He leaned one arm heavily against the side of the tower as he took stock of their condition, only to be met by Ratchet's studious gaze.

The medic was scanning his injuries. Optimus turned to let him assess the severed fuel lines on the left side of his back. "Fixable, if we have three, maybe four minutes."

Prime looked to Bluestreak. "Where is Thundercracker?"

"Still below, if not invisible." The gunner kept his rifle trained on the two jets.

"We'll assume he's on his way." Optimus glanced across the deck, listening for sounds of the Decepticons below. All he heard was Ratchet rising and moving to stand behind him.

"The Hercules should be on its way," the medic commented as he sealed the leaking tubes. "Should we try to contact the pilot?"

"Not yet." As Ratchet stepped back Optimus turned to look at him then Bluestreak. "Have either of you received word from Arcee?"

"No."

"No." Ratchet knelt to continue working on Dirge. The former prisoner was watching him dully, his optics barely lit.

Prime tapped the side of his helm. "Arcee, do you read? This is Prime, over." Bluestreak spared him a questioning glance. "Jammed," he said. "Soundwave is still operational." He and the gunner both shifted toward the tower entrance. Optimus took half a step, then Ratchet suddenly looked up, alert.

"Audio receptors to low, now!"

A second later Optimus felt what he was referring to. A deep reverberation was building from below the deck. They could dampen the sound but they could feel the vibration of it. It wasn't a sound made by Tidal Wave.

It was something meant to incapacitate him.

Ratchet manually adjusted Dirge's audio receptors since he had no indication the damaged mech would accept the suggestion. A moment later the sound reached the surface, the concussive force pushing Prime away from the tower entrance. It was like a sonic boom amplified fivefold -- and that was after traveling through the ship. The strength at its source must have been even more powerful.

Having not received the warning, out on the deck Ramjet and Thrust were thrashing around, their systems disrupted and preventing them from being able to transform and escape. Bluestreak gave up holding his aim on them, concerning himself instead with keeping to his feet as the floor shook violently.

When it stopped the three Autobots looked at each other, then waited, expectant glances shifting to the tower entrance. Optimus cautiously brought his audio receptors back to normal input. He raised his gun as he heard footsteps on the stairs, though lowered it as Thundercracker's head cleared the doorway. The Neutral gave him a quick nod then pulled something from his shoulder -- an arm ending in clawed fingers, which left behind several puncture wounds. He tossed the arm to Ratchet. "Parts for you. Can we evac him?"

"Yes. If the plane returns," Ratchet replied, stripping wires from the limb.

"The plane?" Thundercracker effected a smirk. "Tidal Wave is down along with the others. We have a ship."

Prime shook his head. "That would bring the Decepticons right to the humans' doorstep."

"What were you planning to do with them, then? Sink them again? There are plenty of large scale Decepticons that could take the form of this type of vessel and fish them out. Or if word has gotten out -- and Soundwave had plenty of time to do it -- they might skip the disguise altogether. We were lucky they bothered this time. We should put them all in stasis lock and hold them until someone makes a move -- the Combaticons are still out there and we will probably hear from them soon. And we should completely destroy Megatron's shell to be _certain_ this time."

Ratchet had stopped what he was doing and was studying Thundercracker critically. His optics flashed as he ran an open scan. "You need a recalibration."

"It can wait."

"And--" Ratchet paused when his scan showed a small shape tucked inside Thundercracker's outer rib assembly.

Realizing what he had seen, Thundercracker gently removed Blues' body and laid it on the ground. "I presumed Broadcast would want him back. I didn't want to leave him down there amongst them. The shell is not functional but deserves better."

Ratchet nodded and said quietly, "I am sure Broadcast will appreciate the gesture." He looked to Prime. "I support the idea of using Tidal Wave as transport to land. When I finish here I will ensure that the Decepticons remain in stasis lock."

Optimus gave a nod. "I may need you to access the manual controls."

"That will be next, then."

Bluestreak wandered across the deck to confirm the status of Thrust and Ramjet. Both appeared to be knocked out. He prodded Ramjet's head with his rifle. "I don't know. Even stasis lock seems risky." He placed the end of the rifle against the middle of the Decepticon's forehead.

"With Megatron completely gone they might choose to switch sides, or become neutral," Thundercracker replied. "Everyone deserves that chance." He glanced toward Dirge.

Bluestreak removed the rifle and glanced back at Thundercracker, weighing the comment. "Let's hope that works on a large scale." His expression was disturbingly grim as he added, "But we should disable Soundwave. He's dangerous even when offline."

"Even Soundwave will take a while to recover from that boom," Thundercracker assured them. "But I agree he would need watching. Ratchet, I would like to talk with Dirge. I will tend him while you see to the others."

The medic waited long enough to wield an armor patch back into place before standing and following Optimus below deck. Bluestreak remained by the two jets, keeping watch for the returning C-130. Thundercracker knelt and did his own scan of the damaged mech. "Dirge, I know you are aware. You have a chance to live now. What will you do?"

The red optics brightened a little, defiant. "I will _not_ join the Autobots. But... I will not harm them, either."

Thundercracker nodded. "They can give you full repairs and you will be free to go afterward. You can be a Neutral, as I am, and we can do work elsewhere. From what I have learned of its history, I doubt this planet will suffer us."

"I will... think about it."

* * *

Ratchet was impressed by the effects of a full force boom when he saw it for himself. His readings indicated instant stasis lock, the system disruptions guaranteed to last for several hours. As Bluestreak feared, however, Soundwave was already recalibrating even if it would take those hours to bring him completely online. Ratchet quickly lengthened the delay before checking each of the Constructicons. Scrapper had been the one to ignominiously donate his arm to Dirge's repairs.

Meanwhile, Optimus went over to inspect Megatron's depleted shell, taking readings as well. There was residual energy from the power system but all trace of a spark was gone. He would have liked to know the details first hand.

He would also have liked to know if Jazz had been successfully extracted. He had glimpsed two small bots in Arcee's arms but it had been more important to keep Thrust and Ramjet busy than to confirm anything. Yet with Soundwave down now he might be able to contact the rest of his troops and find out.

There was one more thing he needed to do first.

He turned Megatron's body over and opened his chest cavity, finding the spark chamber. He used his blade to sever all of the cables, then removed the chamber. He placed it against the remains of the main console then drew back his arm and, with only a second's hesitation, brought the blade down, slicing through what would hopefully be the only means to try to bring Megatron back. The two pieces of the spark chamber fell to opposite sides, not so much as a flicker of electricity in their wake. Optimus was satisfied that they had finally seen the last of the Decepticon leader.

Ratchet waited silently, assessing Megatron's shell from a distance. When Optimus turned to him, he said ruefully, "I am sure you want the entire shell disposed of, and I would heartily agree, although I must offer the irony of using the material to complete repairs on Dirge."

"Better not to chance it. It was horrifying enough that Megatron could be sustained by the sparks of others. I almost wouldn't put it past him to become infused within his armor itself."

"Haunted plating. A disturbing thought. I'm not sure I could scientifically support that. But then, as you said, no one knew consuming the sparks of others could result in what we saw. He _did_ live again, he was cognizant, and he did try to stop Broadcast."

"Speaking of whom, I'm going topside to try to reach Arcee. I should be able to get through now." He glanced toward Soundwave. Ratchet nodded and moved off to inspect some of the equipment. "Will you be all right by yourself?"

"There is nothing else online or living around this area. I will be fine."

"Very well." Prime exited and took the stairs two at a time, hauling on the railing for balance. He felt confident that they finally had things in hand. When he reached the deck he nodded to Thundercracker and Bluestreak, then opened an Autobot-only hailing frequency. "Arcee, do you read? This is Optimus Prime. We have secured Tidal Wave. What is your status?"

Her response was immediate. "I'm relieved to hear from you, sir. I haven't been able to get through. There has been trouble. Tom Banachek has turned on us. He took over the Edwards base and diverted all operations. D.C. said they have it under control now, but it looks like there's a problem there as well. I lost contact with them just minutes ago. It seems Swindle is involved, too, although from how it sounded, he's a victim for once."

Prime shuttered his optics, fists clenching at his sides. Bluestreak noticed the change and lowered his rifle, his own disappointment settling heavily. "What is the current status of our teams?" She gave him an update on everyone's location.

He hailed Prowl. "Yes, Prime?"

"I'm putting you in complete charge of operations until I can return to land. Have Tracks and Firestar search for Swindle and Banachek. Keep alert for any more surprises. We're on our way."

"Affirmative."

* * *

Trailbreaker transformed the moment he cleared the garage. He had a building between him and Skywarp, but he could see the top of the Decepticon's head over the roof. The cover didn't mean much to protect the Autobot, so he dashed around it, force field generator cranked to full capacity and prepared to reverse in hopes he could contain Skywarp as he had Rumble. Skywarp was bigger and more geared toward fighting, however, so Trailbreaker had no idea if the tactic would work a second time.

As he rounded the corner he saw that Skywarp was just standing there, facing a line of brave policemen and the beginnings of a National Guard line of defense. The Decepticon was posing in a menacing fashion yet appeared to be... making faces at the humans. They didn't know what it was, probably seemed to them like he was threatening them, but Trailbreaker knew the pattern of shifting face plates. He shook his head. Skywarp was a strange bird. A deadly one, but his love for pranks made one wonder at his intelligence sometimes.

At least it gave the Guard and Epps' specialized team time to get into place. Trailbreaker decided to risk buying them a little more time. He got as close to the busy Decepticon as he could then activated his reversed force field, starting it between Skywarp and the humans, and hoping he could seal it before his opponent retaliated.

Skywarp did turn as the yellow-tinged field came into existence. He pivoted and glared at Trailbreaker, then made a mocking face. The Autobot held his gaze, glaring hard.

"Just _one_ Autobot to face me? And the slowest of the lot? Come on, I know there are more of you here! Where's the little data nerd? Is that how you Autobots work now? Leaving one to fight a big bad Decepticon all on his own?"

Trailbreaker could just imagine Rattlelatch cringing at being called out. "Oh, stow it, Skywarp. Don't underestimate the numbers we Autobots have on our side. What about you? Do you have a petition for Congress? Do the Decepticons want to make a formal apology to the President? You aren't my first pick for the language of diplomats."

Skywarp sneered, then hissed in Cybertronian, "The days are numbered for these fleshlings. Are you really that stupid?"

He heard the Autobot reply, "No!" in Cybertronian, but in English Trailbreaker said, "Now!" and a dozen humans scurried out from behind him and fired through the section of force field not yet closed. To their relief the sabot rounds still worked to damage Decepticon armor.

Skywarp hissed again and thrashed as the assault stung him in numerous places. _This_ was not part of the plan. He lunged forward, extending his arm panels to shove Trailbreaker. The force field retreated for a moment from the Autobot's concentration being broken. Skywarp threw himself past the gap, tried to step on some humans as he landed, then jumped up into the air and activated his thrusters -- knocking humans off their feet and causing them to clutch their ears, he was pleased to see. He hissed at Trailbreaker again, then transformed and shot off -- disappearing into nothingness three seconds later.

Trailbreaker tried to scan for him, but the Decepticon's teleportation range ran farther than his equipment. He turned instead to check on the humans. Epps was there, helping a man to his feet who was cradling one of his arms. Trailbreaker put in a call for medical help, then transformed and encouraged the lesser injured men to get in.

"What the hell was that about?" Epps asked angrily as he helped his charge into the passenger seat.

"More than it seemed," Trailbreaker cautioned. "Decepticons don't just randomly pop in, trade insults, and leave. It may have been a warning." As he spoke, his radio emitted a crackle and they could hear faint chatter about the sudden appearance and disappearance of an oddly colored F-22 near Andrews Air Force Base. Trailbreaker rumbled unhappily. "Couldn't keep up with him even if I _could_ track him. We'll just have to get everyone on alert. He could be going anywhere." Trailbreaker fell into a disappointed silence as a medic came over to do a quick evaluation of his passengers.

Epps gazed at the last spot Skywarp had occupied while on the ground. "Yeah. And after we hear how Optimus' team is doing, I think we _all_ need to go on the offensive. If all the 'Con's aren't with their leader, they could be anywhere on the planet."

Elsewhere in the area, a small group of robots were settling into their new cover modes. A message went out on a secure Decepticon frequency, beyond the reach of Rattlelatch's communication modifications. "Thanks for the ride, 'Warpie. Have fun gettin' home." It was followed by an unhinged cackle and several curses. Not long after, the humans lost random, but important, communication lines.

* * *

Tracks broke through the cloud cover as he shot past Firestar. Their target was in sight, going about ninety miles an hour on the long stretch of highway that seemed to go nowhere. Yet the two Autobots assumed nothing about the appearance of the landscape. There was always going to be one more hidden Sector Seven installation.

"I'm sure he has registered us," Tracks said over an encrypted line, "but I think we should hold back and see where he is going. We might gain insight to his plans and be able to send word to Prowl and avoid another betrayal."

"Agreed." They both moved to a higher altitude and began scanning ahead for anomalies in the surroundings. They didn't locate the one they suspected until Swindle pulled off the highway and sped toward a sheer outcropping of rocks about a mile into the desert. The Autobots had to grant Sector Seven that; they knew their isolated locales. It seemed the red car was going to crash into the rock, but then it braked hard, doing a 180 turn. The two in the air heard a loud cry in Cybertronian as sparks came from Swindle's undercarriage. When the car stopped completely, Banachek climbed out of the driver's side.

Tracks and Firestar veered before they came close enough to be seen, keeping watch on Banachek via radar as they made wide circles to come back around. The human appeared to slam his hand on Swindle's hood, then he walked _through_ the rock face to the hidden section behind the facade. Neither Autobot could discern what type of cloaking technology was involved.

They landed, transformed, and cautiously approached Swindle in case he had faked the distress call. But they were greeted by a genuinely desperate voice. "Thank the Vok! I knew you had to be there. I never let on to Banachek, I swear! He's got a dampener on me! Don't touch the wall! He said something about only organics from this point on. Believe me, it can't be anything good. He's insane, I tell you!"

"Hush up," Tracks snapped. "Did it occur to you that he may have bugged you as well?"

Swindle uttered a burst of apologetic static. The two Autobots walked around him, scanning for devices that could be transmitting to the human. They correctly suspected that there was equipment broadcasting to elsewhere -- as if Swindle would halt all business even when he was a captive.

The motion they had seen from Banachek had been the placement of a subsonic inhibitor, Swindle explained, after they described the device on his hood. It kept him from transforming. Unbeknownst to the human, Swindle had the answering device to cancel it. He instructed Firestar to open his trunk, close it, then open it again. Where it had been empty the first time, the second time it contained something that looked like an extraction container, with four grasping prongs at four opposing points, a stream of energy dancing between them in a cross hairs. "Make sure you center it exactly on the inhibitor or...uhm, I'm not getting up for a while."

Firestar did as instructed and successfully removed the device. Swindle immediately transformed, only to stagger once and fall on his skidplate. He grumbled and recalibrated his gyro stabilizer while Tracks and Firestar inspected the rocks -- yet keeping a subtle watch on Swindle. His camera head was tilted downward, not seeming like a threat, and the two agreed that they could trust him.

"Swindle," Tracks said, "Do you know _anything_ at all about what this might be about?"

"I can't say I believe half of what Banachek told me to trick me into this mess, but it might have something to do with _this."_ He stood and pointed to an image on his chest screen. It was an odd combination of the top three-quarters of the Autobot emblem with the lower half of the Decepticon symbol.

"And _what_ is _that_ supposed to be?"

"Beats me. First time I've ever seen it, and that's saying something. It's got Banachek riled up." Swindle replaced the image with that of a Cybertronian robot from the shoulders up, presumably how he would appear if he had such a head design.

Firestar studied the rocks again. "We need to get in there and find out what is going on. Banachek was our ally. Somehow this thing has changed his mind."

The mech on Swindle's screen moved in accordance when he replied, "Are you really so sure he has been your ally this entire time?"

The Autobots traded glances. "As reports go," Tracks said, suddenly feeling uneasy, "Banachek slipped away from the action at Hoover Dam once Lennox had taken charge of the escape operation and Simmons had gone with Keller's team. After the fight with the Stunticons he also disappeared rather quickly."

Swindle nodded. "Seems to me he likes to observe and not actually get very involved. Did you bots ever profile these Sector Seven characters?" Again the two looked at each other, and both took on guilty countenances. "Presumed too much, then." Swindle's image turned its head back and forth. "A shame you counted on mere logic here -- humans are small and while adaptable still need your help against the Decepticons. True, but not all of them are going to sit back and just complain about you." He showed a news clip of the recent protest outside the White House.

"All right," Tracks snapped again. "You do _not_ need to rub it in our faces. Let's figure out how to get to Banchek, and perhaps we can stop this from getting even more out of hand."

Swindle switched back to the mech's image, which nodded, then he moved to inspect the rock. "EMP shield, if I'm not mistaken. Amped up to fry anything that tries to pass through it. Tuned to Cybertronians specifically, or else it would even interfere with the electrical impulses in human bodies."

"I assume you have something to counter it?" Firestar asked. She folded her arms. "For a price, of course."

"Not exactly. Something that might get past it for us, yes."

"Us?" Tracks looked at him with a raised optic ridge. "So you are allying with the Autobots?"

Swindle pulled himself to his full height, though still shorter than either of them. "I am a good businessbot, you know. You were willing to respond to my request for help. Anyone else might have left me to my fate, whether or not you were actually after Banachek and had no plan to save me. Plus..." He paused, both his camera and screen image searching Tracks' optics. "They've got something that is a threat to all Cybertronian kind, and could have effects across the whole universe. I'm not going to just stand back and watch. So yeah, I'm with you." He put out his hand. With hesitancy Tracks took it and shook in agreement.

Swindle then stepped back and several compartments opened along his sides and legs. He rummaged through them, taking out various small parts. "I have to keep the pieces of this thing separate. They have a habit of reassembling themselves."

"Looks robotic," Tracks commented. "Won't it also be affected by the barrier?"

"It has a little something extra put in by its creator."

"And that would be who?"

"Don't know," Swindle replied cheerfully. "It was a bonus from a deal with the Vok."

"You keep mentioning them. Who are they?"

"Some very nice overlords from Nexus Zero. They understand the balance of, well, everything." He completed the construct and held it within his hands, fingers forming a cage. It was about six inches high and looked something like an insect, but with an oval light on one end instead of a distinct head. The six legs twitched and began to batter at his fingers, the light blinking. Swindle spoke in a language that sounded vaguely related to Cybertronian, then set the construct down. The light stopped blinking and shown ahead like a flashlight. As it scurried toward the facade, Swindle's chest screen filled with static, then resolved into a bug's-eye view of the rock.

"Come on," he ushered the two Autobots toward the side of the outcropping. "In case there's something in there that will start shooting out at intruders when that thing enters." Once in position he watched on his internal feed from the construct while sharing it on his screen. It passed through the barrier unmolested.

Despite Banachek's words about organics, the entrance and tunnel beyond could accommodate an average-sized Cybertronian, based on the scale included on the feed's HUD. The construct was small, but it moved quickly; there were several turns and stretches of downward ramps, but it passed through them as if the three were walking at their own normal pace. As the construct rounded one last corner, there were gasps from all three watchers when they saw what lay at the bottom of the ramp.

To the left and ahead, the walls were inscribed with layers of Cybertronian glyphs, as was the floor, which lowered in tiers. The construct slowed to a cautious crawl, its light going out. There was plenty of illumination in the chamber, anyway, coming from large spotlights shining up from the far right wall. There was a bank of computers and about a dozen humans in archaeological garb moving around, Banachek among them. As the construct slowly turned, it showed that the tiered floor had a raised dais in its center, and upon it was a carving of the symbol Swindle had shown them.

"Fascinating," Swindle murmured. "Here I thought they were hiding an anti-Cybertronian weapon. Instead, they found an ancient Cybertronian...something."

Firestar's professional mien had given way to awe. "But what is something that belongs in one of our temples doing _here_ on _Earth?"_

Swindle's screen showed the construct going up to the wall and running scans of the nearest glyph, highlighting specific details of it. "It's genuine," he confirmed. "Those were not made by human hands." He looked from one Autobot to the other. "Banachek was trying a bluff. Sector Seven made the barrier, but _this_ is definitely not for organics only." If his camera lens could look sly, it did at that moment. "If I could get a personal scan of those glyphs, I could date them and perhaps prove that this was claimed as Cybertron's territory before the humans began walking upright. _We_ could be the owners of this planet, not them."

Tracks frowned at him, all too aware of how like a Decepticon he sounded. "If anyone from Cybertron came to colonize this place it was never in the history data tracks. We have no claim, with or without a settlement, and unless we can get a complete scan of _all_ of those glyphs, we don't even know the story. It could have been an explorer who set down a record and then wandered off to other solar systems."

"Or perhaps it was _erased_ from the data tracks, and the 'explorer' never left at all." Swindle's screen was focused on one particular set of glyphs. He displayed a translation into modern Cybertronian, then his camera whirred as it refocused in a serious gaze, waiting for their reactions.

"I'm calling Autobase," Tracks blurted. "If anyone knows for certain, it will be Perceptor."

* * *

"Bumblebee, why are there civilians in my full alert base?"

Two humans and a suddenly hunching yellow bot turned to face the wrath of Chromia, standing in the doorway of the communications room and fuming as if they posed egregious harm to her battle strategy.

"Uh, my fault, Ma'am," Sam quickly spoke up from where he sat in Broadcast's chair. "I wanted to see Jazz."

Mikaela, perched on the edge of the console, nodded, rushing to add, "We barely got past an introduction before. It's so great that he's back."

Chromia pointed to the main screen. _"That_ does not look like Jazz."

Arcee, who was the one on the screen, looked just as guilty as the rest of them. "I apologize, Chromia. With contact from D.C. lost, and being able to only wait on Prime's team and Firestar's, I wanted to make contact with who I could."

Chromia glanced from the screen to Bumblebee and back, then shook her head, cycling air out of her vents. "Fine. But what is Jazz's status? And Broadcast?"

"Jazz just stepped out. He is functional although obviously needs to adjust. He seems... depressed, worried about Broadcast. We all are. He is stable, and Moonracer is working on a new spark chamber, but we could really use Ratchet here to help." Arcee looked pained. "I worry that the Decepticons _planned_ this. Split up our forces, hindered our communication lines. I want to go out and stop them, but we obviously underestimated where they all were."

Bumblebee made a sympathetic noise and put one hand against the screen. Arcee did the same, matching her fingertips to his.

Chromia huffed with more vehemence this time. _"I_ want to find and fight them, too."

The others were silent. There was an unspoken rage and resentment in her tone. Fortunately, they were diverted from the subject by a smaller window opening and requesting encryption clearance. Chromia darted forward to input permission. Tracks' face appeared. "Chromia, we have successfully found Banachek's location, and Swindle has allied himself with us. We also found something that... has to be seen to be believed. I want Perceptor to review it."

"May I see, or is it too sensitive?"

"It involves all Cybertronians, so of course you may. Patching to the Ark as well."

Arcee nodded. A third window opened, larger and partially cutting off the visual from the Ark, and a feed as labeled as from Swindle's data tracks played a slow pan around some type of cave covered in glyphs. "Ancient Cybertronian," Chromia exclaimed, her hands gripping the edge of the console. "Where is this?"

As Tracks began to explain, Sam leaned closer to the monitor, first moving to the edge of Broadcast's chair, then setting his hands on the console and slowly crawling forward. Mikaela and Bumblebee were intent on what Tracks was saying and didn't notice until Sam slapped his hands against the screen right over a line of glyphs. Mikaela jumped at the sound.

"Sam, what are you doing? Sam?" He didn't answer, instead rising to his feet and reaching to touch more of the images.

"Sam!" Mikaela and Bumblebee reached for him at the same time, with her being the one to grab his shoulder and turn him toward her. His eyes were distant, almost in a trance. "Sam, are you okay..?" She shook him lightly.

He focused on her for just a second, then turned his gaze back to the screen as the image zoomed in on the set of glyphs Tracks had wanted Perceptor to confirm.

**To Be Continued**


	11. Chapter 10

_[Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to HorseTechie, Rebecca Hb, and PadisharLupine for their involvement in the Seeker Brothers Quest arc in the original TFBlogs RPG, and the fantastic Dreamtime storylines that resulted.__ There is a flashback here that is a follow-up to the one-shot ficlet "P.O.W." __ Please forgive any geographical inaccuracies. Google Search is my friend, but I wholly embrace the "fictional" part of "fanfiction." ^^;_

_Special Thanks also to PadisharLupine for beta reading this chapter and helping to clear up a trouble spot. :)_

_Special Note to __ Jason M. Lee__: Not quite Aokigahara, but you had the correct hemisphere. =) ]_

* * *

**Renewal **

**Part Ten**

The ship docked at Melbourne in the early morning. It would be a while before the mid cargo was removed, so Ironhide merely flexed his treads and waited. He really wanted to break the chains holding him in his parking space and transform to work out the kinks he had felt setting in over the past week on top of the other two weeks of inactivity, but he was too close now to give himself away. Another hour or two, and then he and his escort would be on the way to her hotel where they would go over the schedule again. The technicalities of their vacation had been covered by the government, all they had to do was keep secret that an Autobot had crossed international borders not in pursuit of a Decepticon.

As it so happened, he had to wait an extra day to charge his fuel reserves. Even though he hadn't moved, he'd had to keep certain systems online, and sitting in the dark for so long lent nothing to the solar power converters. At least he was able to sneak away that night and find a hiding place to transform. His joints creaked loudly and he had to bang on his right leg's upper panels to get them to slide completely into place. He was alert for anyone who may have heard, although when he was certain no one was coming he tested his joints a little more. Once satisfied, he stood and was content to look out at the star-filled sky.

An hour before dawn he returned to the hotel, parking exactly where he had been before. They would go sightseeing that day, allowing his converters to start on full capacity storage, then part ways that evening. By the time the sun was setting Ironhide had decided he would like to tour the city more when he returned.

He went north, a three day journey ahead of him. He did most of his driving at night and found areas to walk around or park and collect a solar charge during the day. Ratchet's modifications were turning out to be an excellent idea. He never once experienced fatigue and felt better than he had in decades. With miles of uninhabitable land all around he had no worries of being seen, either.

He arrived at his destination two hours before sunrise. His holomatter driver was already in place. There were groups of tourists here and there. When he stopped to park, his driver got comfortable with a nondescript book. If anyone tried to be companionable or just plain curious -- and happened to be tall enough to look inside -- they would see a backpack and camping supplies in the passenger seat.

When dawn approached he projected his driver getting out and, although remaining close to the truck, had a camera at the ready. However, Ironhide joined the other spectators with his vehicle mode sensors as the sun began to rise and Uluru flared with breathtaking color. From the darkness of night it emerged, dull crimson at first then becoming a brilliant bright red the higher the sun rose.

Again he spent the daylight hours parked, remembering to have his driver appear to eat and drink, and wander to the free standing facilities every few hours. Meanwhile, he listened to the other tourists conversing. Much of it was about the land, the natural monument, the two names, the cultural significance, and where they had each come from and why they had wanted to see the great wonder. Some of their reasons were like his own.

At sunset the glorious show of color repeated. Bright red again, then fading slowly, yet a glow seemed to remain around the great rock formation. As the stream of visitors thinned, some headed for the nearby hotels, others to their chosen campgrounds, Ironhide shifted into gear and began to drive the circuit around Ayer's Rock, searching for a certain spot.

There was a way _inside._ As night fully settled, Uluru giving off the faintest of violet light, he found it.

* * *

Uneven tunnels and caves of assorted sizes turned out to be a maze going nowhere. There was no apparent continuity to it, and his internal map, edited as he went along, indicated overlapping or perpendicular tunnels when that was not how he was traversing them. He thought he had been prepared for anything that might happen, but the maze had been unexpected; of course, the deepest place inside the monolith was legend and scientific theory. No geologists or non-Aborigne had gone that way.

It was also unlike any cave environment he had experienced, and he had explored countless ones on so many worlds. The air was cool and felt clean cycling through his ventilation system. No matter how close the walls came he felt like he was in open space. It didn't click with his logic center, yet at the same time it seemed _right._ He knew not where precisely he was going; he trusted his steps to guide him.

At some point he lost track of time. His fuel cells were still at a more than adequate level yet he decided to sit for a little while. He came across a small side cavern that looked like a good spot and transformed to park for an hour or two. He reviewed his internal map, certain he could find his way back despite the knots in his marked trail. He drifted off down the datastream that formed one tunnel's dimensions then entered full recharge mode.

However, it felt all too soon that he woke, and a sudden wary instinct kicked in. The same walls surrounded him, the one entrance to the cave laying dark and empty. He watched carefully for moving shadows as he turned on his headlights. There was nothing by the opening nor immediately near in the tunnel beyond. He changed to robot mode and returned to the maze, again trying to map it all, and ending up confounded by the geology.

Once more time escaped him as he moved, leaving him unsure how long it had been since he first left the small cave to when he arrived at a large cavern that had numerous tunnel openings at uneven intervals piercing it, various sized stalagmites and stalactites scattered throughout. He looked around, matching each entrance with its opposite across the way, and muttered aloud, "Earth's nature is fond of games."

His voice rumbled about the cave and down the tunnels in repetitive echoes. With a quieter grumble he started toward the opposite side of the tunnel he had exited, keeping close to the wall in order to bounce a quick scan down each one.

As he reached the halfway point he noticed there were indentations in the wall. Shining his lights across them revealed that they were actually markings, familiar and... He stopped and peered in disbelief at an impossible engraving. It was the top three quarters of the Autobot symbol atop the lower half of the Decepticon emblem. The other markings became clear. Ancient Cybertronian. He quickly scanned them and packaged the data to send to the Ark and Autobase. Yet before transmitting he reached up to trace the fingers of his left hand over a line of symbols. He was reminded of the first time Chromia had brought him to one of the temples on Cybertron, after his liberation from the war plant...

Suddenly he heard a noise that came from _within_ the wall. He hastily drew his hand back in case he had accidentally triggered a trap -- foolish of him to have touched it in the first place. He berated himself for not scanning deeper first. The noise repeated, and he considered the possibility of a tunnel running parallel to the wall that his scan bounces hadn't reached. He leaned a little closer to try to pick it up better and define what material was involved.

Something flat and metal cleaved through the rock just beside his head, barely missing a horn. Ironhide quickly pulled back as another vertical strike broke away the stone where his other side had just been. He grunted and staggered back on the uneven floor in surprise. Next a massive fist punched through the middle, sending chunks of stone flying. Ironhide guarded his face with his arms and tried to catch a glimpse of the figure in the darkness behind the wall -- someone who was now kicking away the lower part of it, the carvings disappearing into the rubble in almost an exact replay of one particular battle at the Temple of Nova Cronum on Cybertron.

He steadied himself, the illumination from his headlights gleaming off the object that had cut through the wall. A long sword, gripped in the hand of a mech who was taller than him. Ironhide rumbled in double annoyance, first at the interruption and second at the fact that a Decepticon had inexplicably found him here.

He also hoped that it was only _a_ Decepticon instead of _several._ One Stunticon was more than enough.

Motormaster climbed out of the hole he had made, needing to lean over to get through, and when he straightened up his head almost brushed the ceiling. That led Ironhide rule out Menasor even if the other Stunticons were around. He also wasn't wearing the additional armor used to form the gestault -- which would make it slightly less difficult to fight him. Motormaster stepped toward the Autobot, slapping the flat of the sword's blade against his palm. "So _this_ is where you crawled off to, hey, Ironhide? Not very fitting for a warrior to lose himself."

"I am _not_ lost," Ironhide shot back before he could stop the words. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"We have been looking for you. You are missing the great wave of change out there. Skirmishes on all fronts, destruction as far as the optic can scan, defectors that know who the winning side will be. We own the skies and land and even the sea. You are a worthy soldier, Ironhide, built for the exact same cause. You know it's in your programming, it's in your codes." Motormaster leaned in close. Ironhide didn't so much as blink. "Hardwired. You will never be able to delete and purge it, and you can't fulfill your designated function wandering around like an unformatted drone." He gestured around the cavern for emphasis. "So decide. Be what you were built to be. Or be lost for eternity."

"I already said... I am _NOT_ lost!" Ironhide's optics flared and he shoved the Decepticon backward toward the hole in the wall. He crouched immediately afterward and took stock of his tactical options. Caves had never been his favorite terrain. Explosions tended to trigger cave-ins.

Motormaster's head struck the top section he'd had to duck under earlier, but it didn't slow him down. He was right back to his feet three seconds later. "Then I shall finish what I began with your _optic!"_

It _was_ Nova Cronum all over again.

As Ironhide stood up straight to face the challenge, right in front of his visual sensors he saw the walls of the Temple of Nova Cronum rise up from the cavern's floor, lifting high and taking the cavern's ceiling with them, creating a much more massive and open space. The stalactites disappeared with the distance, and the stalagmites were absorbed downward into the floor as it smoothed out into metal tiles. The tiles were imprinted with aspects from each side of the Allspark.

He would have attributed the sight to a battle simulation hologram, perhaps projected by Motormaster -- or any hidden Decepticon that was with him -- but it was far too vivid. The smells and the innate energy surrounding the place were _real._

He darted a quick glance around, and when he looked toward where Motormaster had been standing, the Decepticon was gone. He hastily spun, but there was no sign of him.

Something new then happened to the floor. Ironhide blinked and peered, trying to make it out. Various liquidy gray shapes were rising, like a flow of molten metal into a mold. Some stayed fluid and darkened into spatters of oil or became the lighter color of lubricant. Rubble from destroyed walls and broken pieces of plating formed, too. Ironhide recalled that on that day Motormaster hadn't been the only one to break through a wall, and there had been many Cybertronians inside who did not have any defensive capabilities. They would have been wiped out if there hadn't been a team of warriors visiting.

Ironhide felt himself being pulled backward, an indefinable feeling akin to floating but on an ethereal level. He saw the walls repair themselves, the other debris fading until the floor was pristine.

His memory of what was to come faded with it. At that moment he was entering the Temple for the first time, and all of the initial feelings were fresh and new.

He gazed up at the sigil-covered lintel, feeling a sense of awe that he hadn't known he possessed. He had never seen anything like it before. Up until three days ago he had only seen the inside of a battle manufacturing plant -- aside from an unscheduled trip to a warehouse one night.

"Ironhide, this way." Chromia stood by a statue of one of their ancestors, beckoning to him, yet her tone was soft, respectful of this new experience and not intending to rush him.

He nodded and followed, glancing up at the statue as he passed. He couldn't help wondering how the ancients transformed and what type of weapons they were armed with. Their exostructures, or at least this one's, did not appear to accommodate either one. There was a name on the plinth but it was in the ancient language, not included in his database. He glanced at Chromia as they walked together down a wide passageway with a high ceiling. "Can you read it?" He gestured to the walls and the next statue in the line of six.

"No. I wish I could. I believe our ancestors had plans for our future that did not include civil war and planetary conquest." She stopped and touched the wall. "These may even be messages meant to be passed from one generation to the next, but the knowledge to read them went with the Primes who left to explore other worlds, and soon even their descendants forgot. Our current Prime says we should continue to guard them. One day someone might be able to translate them."

Ironhide grunted, an attempt at agreement with the possibility, but not able to make the information factor in his processor. Data that no one could analyze was useless. The building itself could make a decent fortress, he decided, and the secondary goal could be to protect the carvings. He forced himself to keep that comment to himself and tried to see the statues of the ancients as his own forebears.

He emitted a few involuntary, frustrated utterances as he stopped before another statue. He could feel Chromia's gaze on him. He jerked his head around, expecting to see pity, but instead she looked patient, understanding. He felt an undefined twinge in his spark and hastily looked upward again. For three days she had been gently prodding him to explain what exactly had led him to start the riot at the manufacturing plant. He knew she wanted him to say something like a change of spark, but he was uncertain what a change of spark was supposed to feel like. He had thought of it as the logical thing to do after seeing how many war machines like himself were being built, and picturing all of them versus two lone, but brave intel agents.

He grunted again, half-heartedly, and started walking once more. Up ahead were voices, one that he identified as Elita, and three others that he didn't know. Two young males and one older male awaited on the other side of a trio of pillars. He intended to size up the younger bots first, but his attention was drawn to the _presence_ that came from the older one, a tall mech decorated in iridescent orange and yellow, his white forearms and lower legs standing out amongst the grayish limbs of everyone else. His head was black with orange detailing, and every plate on his body had a glyph on it.

He turned with a pleased expression as the two approached. "Chromia, I am glad you have returned."

She nodded in deference. "Thank you." She gestured to her ward. "This is Ironhide, who led the riot." She turned to the black mech. "Ironhide, this is Sunstorm, high priest of this Temple."

Ironhide genuflected, a response he figured was suitable when he didn't know what a high priest was; obviously of a higher station than the others, requiring the respect toward a General perhaps.

Sunstorm's tone was patient. "Rise, Ironhide. There is no need for subservience here. I have been told of your circumstances and I encourage you to look beyond your boundaries while here -- and to wherever you travel."

The black mech stood and nodded. "Thank you."

Elita spoke next. "Our other comrades," she said by way of introduction, motioning first to the short bot with red armor then to the other, who was Ironhide's height and had light blue armor. "Cliffjumper and Magnus. They have been with us from the start, and are among the upcoming generation who are aware of the growing rift." Magnus gave Ironhide a nod.

Cliffjumper slammed one fist into his open palm. "I have always warned that Megatron was a traitor to our world. He has always been suspicious and now look what he is doing!"

Magnus put a heavy hand on the shorter mech's shoulder. Cliffjumper shut his mouth but there was a fire in his optics. Ironhide decided to not underestimate him simply because of his size. "We have intel on a potential site," Magnus said to Chromia, keeping his voice low. "I think we should act on it. Longarm was very certain of it."

"Our bot on the inside," Elita provided for Ironhide. She looked around at the others. "Let us convene in the meeting room. Not everyone here is involved." She nodded to Sunstorm, who dipped his head in return then took his leave past another set of columns.

Ironhide dimmed his optics and stepped toward the nearest wall, intending to take up a silent station until their meeting ended. Chromia's hand on his arm brought him to a halt. "I would like for you to join us."

"I do not belong among the commanders. I only do what they say."

Her fingers tightened. "You know that is not true, not any longer. You can be one of us. Your spark is free, not contained by battle programming. I know you can feel it, Ironhide." She released his arm and held his gaze with her stern optics.

What he did feel was that same twinge in his spark again. He leaned toward her, mouth open to say something, but then he slowly shut it because he didn't know what the words were.

After a very long pause wherein they merely matched stares, he gave an awkward grunt of assent and they finally moved on to join the others.

* * *

The intel involved a weapons research lab which was purported to contain the schematics for some unnecessarily powerful new armament formats. They discussed ideas on how to confirm it for certain, then how to get in, steal the schematics to find the weaknesses, then purge the information to hinder the operation -- if the weapons weren't already in production.

Ironhide constructed several strategies but did not share them. Despite what Chromia had said he still felt that it was his place to wait for an order. If he was assigned to lead a unit it would be different, but here it was obvious who the leaders were: Chromia and Magnus, and no others were needed. Cliffjumper was outspoken and made his personal opinions clear, but he deferred to Magnus. Elita made suggestions and would revise them based on feedback from the two. Ironhide decided that they were a good team.

He was unsure how he factored in.

At length they called a recess so everyone could take some recharge time and then they would see who else they could bring on board. Ironhide silently followed Chromia to the private chambers offered to Temple visitors, keeping his gaze on the floor to help suppress the urge to look at her. She, however, kept glancing over at him; now _she_ seemed unable to produce the right words.

When they arrived at an open room she continued to study him and neither one entered to leave the other to go to the next room. He was waiting for her to concede that he should stay in there when the operation commenced. As the silence continued, he shifted his shoulders and began to turn and enter the room. Fingers briefly touched his arm but pulled back in haste. He looked at her, mildly frustrated. From her optics it seemed the gesture meant something to her. To him it was just something to get his attention.

"Get some rest," she finally said, her voice dull. Ironhide noted how she lowered her gaze as she walked away. He tilted his head, processing the possible significance. Perhaps disappointed in herself for not thinking of anything else to say?

"You, as well," he called. His words didn't sound like they should have; he merely felt that he should say something.

Chromia turned back to him, her optics searching him again.

He wished he could give her whatever she was expecting, but he just didn't know, and so he stared blankly back at her. From her face it seemed that maybe she didn't really know, either.

The mutually uncomfortable silence was broken by the sound of an engine coming from the direction of the main hall. Elita's lithe hover alt mode came around the corner at full speed. She gracefully transformed and halted her momentum with a slide, halting before Ironhide. "Chromia, it was a trick! Longarm just sent a message that he had been misled! They are actually on the offensive, and the target is _this_ Temple!" Her optics flashed once in a pained expression. "I think they know we make quarter here."

Chromia made a noise of discomfort, then grunted with determination. "Come then, both of you." She broke into a run down the way Elita had come, one hand going to the side of her head as she contacted Magnus and Cliffjumper.

The five met up in the main chamber. Other visitors and priests were rushing about. Chromia was glancing over their heads, putting together a defense plan. "Magnus, Elita, take the north entrance. Cliffjumper, east. I'll take the south courtyard. Ironhide, cover the west corridor near where the civilians are taking shelter. Everyone, make sure they do not get into this inner sanctum." As the other three ran off to their positions, she stared hard at Ironhide then pointed toward where she wanted him to go. He formed up one of his cannons and nodded. She trusted him to act on his own. He would find a way to fulfill the assignment to her specifications.

There were only two ways to get to the west corridor: through the main chamber or off the side of the north entrance. The attackers would have to get past Elita and Magnus first. The corridor itself had been built in modern times, created to honor the ancients with works of art and writings that conveyed the hope that the artists had for the messages that may have been passed down.

Ironhide situated himself halfway through the corridor at the bend that was designed to follow a corner of the main chamber. If the invaders made it past the north entrance he could easily take them down from that position. If they came in through the other entrances he would be able to hear the noise in the main chamber.

It was not long before the sound of a fight at the north entrance reached him. He tensed his arms and waited for the first sign of anyone coming his way. His only warning of what was actually to come ended up being Elita's voice shouting over his internal comm frequency. _"There are too many!!"_

He had time to form up his other cannon before about twenty of the attacking mechs swarmed into the corridor. He fired a pulse blast into the first row and a missile into the middle.

The rest kept coming.

He loosed another missile toward the back of the swarm then quickly retreated. He dashed out of the corridor, pivoted, then aimed both cannons at the ceiling and fired. The roof of the corridor collapsed, burying the invaders in rubble. Without looking back he ran toward the doorway leading out to the north entrance. With the other way in blocked, Elita and Magnus would be overrun in no time.

He reached the doorway just as the two came charging in. "Close the doors!" Magnus bellowed, pointing to the massive slab beside Ironhide. Magnus went for the opposite one. Elita stood in the middle, shooting at their pursuers. As he hauled on the door, Ironhide saw the wave of incoming. He stared for a moment longer than necessary.

"Who _are_ they?" he wondered out loud.

Elita's gun arm clicked. "Decepticons." She cycled in another round of bullets and kept firing until the exact second the doors were shut.

Magnus went running for an alcove. "I will go topside."

"I will back up Cliffjumper," Elita called after him. She turned to the black mech. "Ironhide, guard that door. If anyone tries to get in, stop them. But keep watch to the south, too. Chromia might fall back."

He saluted, but she was already running for the east entrance. He glanced toward the passageway that led to the room where the others were hiding. Some of the debris from the corridor had fallen toward it. He considered clearing it in case they had to escape another way.

Suddenly a great impact struck the main doors. Ironhide grunted, pulse cannon whirring in preparation to cool the ready charge. He kept his distance from the doors, leaving plenty of room to launch a barrage if needed. He heard a sputtering pattern of shots and guessed that Magnus had reached his new position above the invaders.

Ironhide squeezed his hands into fists, anxious to do _something._

Then his attention was drawn to the columns behind him due to the cacophony of another group of Decepticons. Chromia came weaving through the columns, twisting as she went to keep shooting, taking more than one down before clearing the pillars.

"Your left!!" Ironhide bellowed, seeing a Decepticon close in on her. Chromia jerked to that side and shot the mech in the face, then whirled back to the incoming wave. Ironhide cycled a missile into place and fell in beside her, scanning the horde. He recognized some of the mechs from the war plant -- when he went one way, these particular mechs went another.

He and Chromia didn't even look at each other. They went straight into a counteroffensive. Ironhide peppered the invaders with missiles. Chromia blasted the ones who were merely knocked over by the missile explosions. They began to move in concert -- when Ironhide turned to fire at a closing enemy, Chromia crouched at the exact nanosecond he fired so that the shot sailed over her head without singeing her. Back up a second later, she stretched her weapon arm right along his chest to blast two more off their feet. They spun, back to back, as the remaining Decepticons tried to surround them.

Tried.

With a flurry of moves a master battle tactician could only hope to execute, they took out the attackers.

Then they both froze, listening, waiting for another wave. Chromia turned toward the north doors, tapping her comm. "Magnus, status!"

Meanwhile, Ironhide had one hand over his chest, rumbling quietly. The twinge again.

"Clear," came Magnus' response. "I think they are regrouping to hit the east entrance next. I am going to stay up here and check for certain."

"Affirmative." Chromia then turned to the side passage. "We have to evacuate the Temple. The north entrance is clear for now."

Ironhide hastily lowered his hand and nodded. "Do it. I will cover you."

She nodded as well, then made a run for the passage's opening and contacted Sunstorm on the way.

Moments later the group of visitors and priests came rushing out. Chromia and Sunstorm opened the doors wide enough for them to get out while Ironhide kept watch on the south and east sides.

He hadn't expected the west wall to explode out into the chamber, about where the blockage of the corridor must have ended. Several escapees were struck by flying debris and fell. Ironhide and Chromia rushed to shield the rest as more of the wall flew. Sunstorm tried to usher them out all the faster.

The mech who had demolished the wall was taller than either of the warriors. As he ducked his head to clear the hole he had made, the deep rumble of his engine heralded the crash of walls being destroyed to the south. More debris flew, from missiles or energy blasts, or even brute strength.

Such as with the huge gray and purple Decepticon before them. Ironhide stared, first at the emblem on the mech's chest, then up at his face. He knew _him,_ too. An overseer at the war plant. Ironhide had trained under him.

The Decepticon's gaze fell on the black mech and he chortled once, smugly. "So, Ironhide, _this_ is where you crawled off to. It is not very fitting for a warrior to lose himself."

Ironhide growled. "I am _not_ lost."

"No? You do not belong _here_ of all places -- at least not standing _with_ these _Autobots._ You have a designated function hardwired into your programming. You belong with _us,_ you were built for the same cause."

Ironhide clenched his fists, rumbling in anger. Those were the facts he had not wanted to process, but they ran through his CPU at all times.

Chromia stepped between them, disregarding the other Decepticons in the room. "No, Motormaster. He belongs with _me."_ She raised her cannon and blasted him square in the chest, the pulse itself seeming more powerful and brighter than ever before.

Motormaster fell with an infuriated shout. The other Decepticons leapt in for a new assault. Ironhide and Chromia were soon working in sync again to take them out. However, this group was much more durable than the first wave. Just as Motormaster was quickly back on his feet with little more than a scorch mark, these Decepticons took an energy blast and kept coming. At one point Ironhide was too hemmed in to shoot. He finally resorted to punching the closest mech in the face with all his strength. Face plating cracked and bits fell away as the Decepticon staggered back. With a determined rumble Ironhide set about punching and kicking everyone within reach. Chromia followed suit. A new perfectly timed flurry of actions ensued from the two powerhouses.

It was abruptly halted by Motormaster wading past his cohorts and grabbing Ironhide by the shoulders, swinging him away from Chromia, up into the air, then slamming him down onto his back. He immediately followed up by stomping on Ironhide's right hip, shattering his armor and eliciting a howl of pain. Motormaster half-laughed, half-growled, and lowered one of the slim weapons on his forearm to the black mech's face, the end pressed against the structure over Ironhide's right optic. Chromia whirled to shoot him, but he dug his heel into the exposed mechanisms of the downed bot's hip, drawing another -- albeit angry mixed with pain this time -- cry from Ironhide and staying Chromia's hand.

"This is a waste. You _and_ she would be useful additions to the rising of the Decepticons. But I can see where your allegiance lies. How _weak_ of you and your spark." He sneered and triggered the weapon. An incendiary acid engulfed the side of Ironhide's face and began to melt his plating. As he howled and spasmed at the hip, violently shaking his head to try to dislodge some of the acid, his other optic caught sight of Chromia throwing herself at Motormaster, her bellow of rage momentarily drowning out all other sound.

The next and last thing he heard before the internal warnings of his damage overloaded his processor were battle cries from Elita and Cliffjumper.

When sound and sight shut off, the last thing he felt was a hand on his chest, a touch that pierced straight down to his spark chamber.

He knew without doubt that it was Chromia.

**To Be Continued**


	12. Chapter 11

_Author's Note: I'll be wrapping up this fic in another two parts/epilogue here. There are some loose ends I will address, but if there's anything in particular you're wondering about, feel free to comment on it! : )_

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* * *

  
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**Renewal **

**Part Eleven**

Ironhide unshuttered his optics and found the temple walls gone. He was in a cave -- no, he was in _the_ cave, in Uluru, on Earth, in the present. And there was Motormaster, taking a swing at his head with the broad sword.

He threw himself into a roll to the left, leaning up on a stalagmite as he returned to his feet. Motormaster pursued, swinging again. Ironhide ducked then rammed the side of one of his cannons into the Decepticon's middle, off setting his balance long enough for Ironhide to perform a roundhouse kick. As Motormaster went down, the Autobot took the precious seconds to input the codes Ratchet had said would give him temporary weapon access. He wasn't keen on launching a missile around so many stalactites, but he needed to deliver enough punch to delay Motormaster until he could get to a better area.

However, when he tried to cycle a missile into place nothing happened.

By that time Motormaster had pulled himself into a crouch. With Ironhide momentarily distracted, he roared and thrust the sword at the Autobot's right thigh.

Ironhide was not so distracted that he couldn't react; he used the inactive cannon as a deflection shield, blocking the blade then shoving forward on it, forcing Motormaster backward. The Decepticon freed one hand from the sword's hilt and grabbed hold of the cannon, pulling Ironhide toward him while the Autobot struggled to free his weapon from the angle he had caught the sword on. Ironhide transformed his other arm to non-weapon mode and punched Motormaster in the face.

It wasn't enough to shake him, however. Motormaster's hand clawed higher on the cannon and he dug his fingers into the cooling vents, snapping slats with ease. Ironhide clenched his jaw mechanisms and braced the relays in that arm, then jerked it downward, loosening Motormaster's hold just enough to fold down his cannon and shore up his arm plating.

Motormaster took the opening and threw himself forward, toppling Ironhide at the waist. Since the Stunticon had been on his knees Ironhide had a difficult time landing an effective kick in response.

The Decepticon was up first and launched into a hard hitting attack. Ironhide put both arm-mounted running boards to use, managing to ward off the blows but unable to deter him long enough to get up. He timed the swings, looking for a split-second opening, his optics darting to watch the motion. Motormaster caught on to what he was doing and swung down harder. The sword's edge bit into the upraised running board, and became stuck there until Motormaster yanked it free and slashed down faster, again and again, making a jagged mess of the chrome. Ironhide could neither adjust to block better nor move out of the way -- the Stunticon's foot came down to trap his other arm.

Motormaster lifted the sword one more time then plunged it down tip-first and pinned the Autobot's arm to the stone beneath him. Ironhide's hand twitched from the collateral damage to his relays. Motormaster glowered down at him. "Well? Now what? All I have to do is pick this up and run it through your spark while you _just lay there._ You are _nothing_ without your weapons, you are nothing when _you_ are not a weapon!"

Ironhide was the farthest thing from intimidated. He had processed and discarded four different strategies by then and was just about to act on the fifth when Motormaster made a demand that stopped his processor cold.

"Why are _you_ here?! WHAT are you trying to prove, old mech?! Do you really think you can _find_ a solution?!" The Decepticon wrenched the sword free and drove the tip down toward Ironhide's scarred optic. The black mech resolved not to flinch.

Then the distinctive cracking of rocks drew Ironhide's attention away from the sword -- the least appropriate thing he could do, but instinct put a higher command on sound, not sight. The sword froze above him as the ruined cave wall put itself back together. The engravings were in different places now, forming new meanings. Only the joined symbol returned to its original spot.

Ironhide understood what his Dreamtime was telling him.

He twisted his wounded arm and grasped the sword by the blade. The nanoseconds passed slowly as his gaze met Motormaster's, and the Decepticon glared murder in answer. Ironhide turned on his hi-beams, shoulders shifting to point the light directly into his opponent's optics. Motormaster snarled, his cameras constricting, and he tried to yank the sword back. Although it slipped a few inches, cutting Ironhide's palm, the Autobot hung on.

He waited for Motormaster to pull again, then bucked his entire frame, knocking the foot off of his other arm. Ironhide then jerked the sword downward, using it as leverage to get to his feet. Motormaster raised one fist and brought it down to clobber Ironhide, but the black mech lashed one leg upward, and the resulting impact did not go in the Stunticon's favor despite his superior height. Reverse momentum carried his arm high and tilted him backward.

Ironhide grasped the sword in his wounded hand and clenched the other into a tight fist. As Motormaster came forward again, Ironhide punched him solidly in the lower torso, denting the segmented armor. A quick hiss told him he had damaged an intake reserve. He followed up with a left hook to the Decepticon's chin.

Motormaster rocked back on his heels. Ironhide spun the sword between his hands so that when the Stunticon righted himself yet again he found the tip of his own weapon at his throat.

Motormaster smirked. "And there you are with a weapon in your hand again. You won't ever change."

A rumble built deep in Ironhide's core. "I don't _need_ to change, Decepti_creep."_ He turned the flat of the blade toward Motormaster's neck then shoved, pinning him against the trunk of a huge stalagmite. "I may have been forged for war, but my function is not to decimate those who cannot stand before my might. It is to use my power against those who would deny others their right to live!"

He drew back enough to angle his hold then rammed the hilt of the sword into Motormaster's face, stunning him. "And I have that right as well. I fight for what _I_ believe in, not what I was _programmed_ to believe. I will never be just a weapon!"

_"Bah."_ Although leaning on the stalagmite for support after the blow, Motormaster sneered, then smirked again. "You can't stop us all by yourself."

Ironhide snorted, ejecting steam from his narrow olfactory vents. He tilted his head up, giving an imperious glare, then he tossed the sword down beside Motormaster. "And none of you can stop _me."_ He turned and walked toward the wall with the engravings.

"It will never be _over,_ Ironhide! You will still be like this forever!" The Stunticon grabbed his sword, absorbing it back into his right arm's plating. He took an unsteady step forward, then snarled when he saw that the Autobot had not looked at him.

"Not forever," Ironhide said as he touched the joined faction symbol. He scanned the entire wall, adding the images to the previous file. "I don't want to live forever. But I _am_ ready to wake up."

And so he did. One moment he was in the cavern, the next he was outside, in vehicle mode, as the sun was setting upon Uluru once again.

The next thing he noticed was a park ranger staring at him. He suppressed a sheepish rumble; while he had been Dreaming his holomatter projector had deactivated. He would deal with that a little later. He wanted to review the two scans of the wall -- or rather his memory of them. There were no actual scans packaged in his database since there had never been anything tangible to scan. But now he constructed a data file of them, his Dream-memory very clear on each one of the glyphs. They were of the same language that had been in the Temples on Cybertron. He had learned how to read a few of them since then, and knew that the ones he had seen in his Dreamtime were a clue from the past. The Allspark...and the Seekers...

Then there was the replay of how he had received his scars. He remembered that burning sensation on his face. He felt a ghost of it every time he touched the area around his optic and it was the same when he felt the ache in his right hip. Out of all of his injuries, those were the two that stuck with him the most. He recalled coming to somewhere in the Temple, Chromia staring down at him and a young medic, barely out of the academy, named Ratchet tending his wounds. The plating on his hip and face were replaced, but his own self-repair broke them down soon after, recreating the scarring. Ratchet had tried to replace them on two other occasions but the same thing happened. The scars were permanent, written into his spark. Bypasses around his hip kept him walking, but he accepted and adapted to the handicap of his optic. The camera and visual input were intact, that was the important part. Ratchet had thought to replace his entire hip assembly, but Ironhide had doubted that would matter, either.

He returned his focus to the ranger. He was talking to someone behind the TopKick. Ironhide didn't catch the end of their conversation -- he was suddenly distracted by the feedback from someone climbing onto his back bumper, then over his tailgate and into his bed. Just as he began to fear he would have to blow his cover to keep from being broken into -- the would-be breakee would be startled to find the glass was not so easily shattered -- he felt a hand on the base of the window at the back of his cab and a man's voice whispered, "I'll help you, Ironhide. Conjure the keys on the seat." He sounded like he might be in his early sixties.

Curious to know who the man was, and knowing that holomatter keys would do him no good nor do harm, Ironhide did as he requested. The window opened outward, the man reached in and felt around a few times, then closed his hand on the spot where the keys sat. Ironhide followed his hand's movement, maintaining the holomatter projection. "I've got them," the man called to the ranger. "Thanks, mate, and sorry for the trouble. " He wasn't native Australian. There was a hint of Russian in his voice.

After the ranger walked away, Ironhide felt the man climb over the left side of his bed and maneuver his way to the door along the running board. Ironhide let him open the door and waited as the man, tall, thin, and dressed just like any other tourist, swung himself into the driver's seat. He kept the door open for a few seconds, leaned over to pretend to rummage in the camping supplies, then sat up, closed the door, and took off his sunglasses.

Ironhide suspected he wasn't a mere tourist. He kept his voice quiet as he spoke through his radio. "And you are..?"

"Morris Brodsky. I'm with Sector Seven."

"They were disbanded. _Who are you?"_

The man smiled. Wrinkles appeared around his gray eyes. "That's what you think. Not all of us gave up our life's work. We just... took on related hobbies."

"How did you find me?" Ironhide couldn't keep the suspicion from his voice on the question.

"You just happened to drive into my latest project. And speaking of driving, we should move along before someone asks if I'm crazy for talking to myself."

Ironhide agreed and shifted gears. He was still a bit wary, but wasn't overly concerned. A scan had shown that Morris did not have anything unusual hidden on his person. If he did try anything Ironhide could always toss him out the door with a quick shift and drive away before anyone realized what he was. "Do you have a destination in mind?"

"We could start heading west. I'm camped out that ways."

Ironhide turned onto a track that led westward. As they passed the last cluster of tourists he asked, "What is your project? I gather it has to do with Uluru's uniqueness."

"Are you familiar with Ley Lines, Ironhide?"

"Somewhat. I know several converge at Uluru." The Autobot was amused that Brodsky sounded like he was having a chat with an old friend. There hadn't been enough information about the other members of Sector Seven, and he wondered how many of them were like Agent Simmons.

The word 'secretive' came to mind when it took about five miles of travel to reach Broadsky's camp site. There wasn't a soul around, but the surroundings gave a good view of Ayer's Rock. Ironhide let Morris out and felt secure about transforming in the growing dark. The man was unfazed by his appearance, and Ironhide wondered where _he_ had been during the Hoover Dam incident. "Observing from here?"

"Yes. I get a nice view of the horizon. Plus this spot is parallel to one of the Ley Lines." Morris knelt to take some things out of a rucksack: a flashlight, a miner's helmet, and a small clip-on radio. "Annnnndd one more thing. Let me show you." Next he took out a utility belt and a thermos. He hooked it, the radio, and the flashlight onto the belt. Ironhide glanced around with a raised optic ridge. He did not see any rock formations large enough for a cave. A campfire would be more effective against the approaching night than either the flashlight or headlamp. "This way." Morris gestured and began to walk further west. Ironhide debated transforming, but then figured that their destination might not be very far.

"So," Morris spoke companionably, "What brought you this way?"

"I'm seeking a solution to something."

"And did your Dreamtime reveal anything helpful?"

"You assume I even had any type of vision."

"I was wondering if your people could enter Dreamtime." Morris looked up with a kind smile. "Plus there is that joke that robots dream of electric sheep."

Ironhide snorted. "We do dream. I doubt sheep are ever a subject. But that is different from this, anyway."

"I know. I was just curious. So did you find your solution?"

"Not quite."

"Looking for love or money?"

Ironhide stopped mid-stride. _"What?"_

Morris grinned up at him. "Humans usually want to know how to attain one or the other, or both."

"That is still different from Dreaming."

"I know. I'm just curious."

Ironhide was beginning to see the trend with Sector Seven agents: they were very odd people.

He was starting to like this one. "I have no use for money and I already have a sparkmate."

"Ah. Well then, what else?"

"It's a... personal matter."

"Ah. Something troubling your soul that needs to be soothed."

Ironhide wanted to grumble at him this time, but he stopped to think instead. "In a way, yes. That, too."

"I should stop prying. It's a habit." Morris pointed to the raised precipice of a fault scarp about seven yards away. "Almost there. The last earthquake to come through here opened it up and erosion has continued the rest. It's going to be hard to hide it."

_Something alien,_ Ironhide thought. He began to scan the ground, looking for anything hidden near the surface. He went stock still as they reached the last three yards. Then he broke into a sprint and practically leaped over the ridge to see how much of Morris' mystery object was revealed.

The human came puffing over a lower section of the fault scarp moments later. "You have an idea of what it is, I assume."

About five feet up from the ground, a narrow gap about nine feet wide was open in the side of a natural trench created by the scarp and the land it had separated from. The edges of the gap had been superheated to the point of forming glass and chips of obsidian. Within he could see numerous pieces of aged metal. Ironhide stared at them, then gently ran one finger over the lines of glyphs decorating the closest piece. "Yes," the Autobot murmured in awe. "This is one of the Ancients."

* * *

Two of the astronomers at Perth Observatory were hurrying to make trajectory calculations. One of them had spotted a cluster of small meteorites that were going to enter Earth's atmosphere. They were waiting for the computer to tell them where, exactly, the cluster might land.

A third astronomer came over to look in the telescope. In a hushed tone he asked, "Do you think they are new Autobots? There has not been word about more of them incoming in several months."

"If it is Autobots, they are off course." One of the men looked over at the third. "Their trajectory will land them _here,_ east of _us."_

The other man turned pale. "I hope they are only regular meteors, then. The Autobots are supposed to keep to North America." He peered into the telescope again, checking the cluster. "They have spread out. There are five separate ones..." He moved the telescope's focus along the path the meteoritess had taken so far, looking to confirm a group of passing asteroids that they might have been pulled from. What he found instead made him become even more pale. "There are three more, and I just saw them change their own course." He pulled back and stared solemnly at his compatriots. "They are chasing the first five."

"Alert the Prime Minister."

* * *

Brodsky peered through a magnifying glass he had taken from a pouch on his belt, studying the engravings in the metal. "Definitely looks genuine. It's similar to the marks on the Allspark and on Megatron, but the shape of the lines have a more... elegant? ...quality to them. Although, I thought the Allspark was rather elegant." He glanced up at Ironhide, who loomed directly over him. "Do you think there's an entire Cybertronian in here?"

"Without doubt. I can tell from the superstructure. I know _who_ it is, as well. I once saw a statue of him."

Morris nodded, running his hand over the glyphs. "Do these mean something? If so, can you read them?"

"Yes, they do, but I cannot read all of them. The ancient language was lost to us for a long time until one of our scientists created a partial translation. He would know what they say."

"What would this fellow be doing _here?"_

Ironhide moved to the side and lowered himself to a sitting position, his back against the eroded face of the scarp. He tried to shrug off the feeling of deja vu. "Long ago there were seven Primes who ruled Cybertron together. When we developed the technology for space travel, six of them set out on exploratory missions throughout the universe. I don't know if they were looking for anything specific or merely expanding our cultural data bases. Those six disappeared into the history tracks, taking their language with them. The generations descended from the remaining Prime allowed slang and new forms of writing to change the old language."

Morris sat back on his heels. "Cultural evolution. Fascinating." He glanced at the gap. "So, who is this fellow?"

"Live Convoy."

Morris looked thoughtful. "So...as a group they're called Primes but an individual is called Convoy?"

Ironhide didn't answer immediately. The way he shifted his cameras downward at the human clearly stated that he was not amused. "Convoy refers to how they are the head of their personal group of followers. Each Prime had different ideals, and attracted different Cybertronians to their entourages. The diversity of the groups helped keep the planet in harmony."

"Ah. I take it that when the Primes who set out to explore left, some members of their entourages went with them?"

Ironhide nodded.

"How long do you think he's been here on Earth?"

"I'm not sure. I don't have any carbon dating equipment."

Morris counted the layers of rock above the gap. "Several thousand at least. Had to have been before the Allspark arrived here."

"Hmm." Ironhide nodded again, his neck creaking.

"Do you think the impact killed him or something else?"

Ironhide shifted closer and leaned over on his hands to peer into the gap, taking note of the condition of parts of the ancient Cybertronian's frame. "He was dead before he hit the atmosphere. We have failsafes for not coming in too hot. I assume they did as well. He was definitely overheated to have done this to the native soil and rock." He gestured to the glass and bits of obsidian.

"How do we get him out?"

"Carefully." Ironhide inspected the glass edges more closely, then ran a thorough scan to make a virtual model of the Ancient's structure and systems. Not a single node was active, yet there was some type of energy residue... "Morris," he said suddenly, "Move away." He put one hand between the human and the gap. "He's radioactive."

"What? But I tested for that first," Brodsky protested while scrambling backward. "My geiger counter didn't register anything."

"Your equipment is not advanced enough to pick up this type of radiation."

Morris jogged along the trench about ten feet before calling back, "It's fortunate you were here."

"Yes..." Ironhide crouched in front of the gap, staring inside and trying not to think too much about the significance of Morris' words. He focused instead on the dilemma he faced: he could not leave the body there but he would need help removing it, and would have to go to the Australian government to get clearance for an excavation. He would then have to explain his unauthorized presence. He rested his elbows on his knees and debated his options.

Morris put away his magnifying glass and took out the thermos. He was taking a drink when the small radio clicked and a voice spoke urgently, "We have confirmed an incoming planetfall. Coordinates are negative two five point two six seven and one three zero point eight seven seven." Morris glanced over at Ironhide. The Autobot had heard and was now gazing skyward.

"I see them."

"Was someone supposed to meet you here?"

"No," Ironhide replied darkly. He stood and made his way out of the trench. "Go back to your camp and find shelter. Warn anyone else nearby. If it isn't a team of Autobots who failed to check in, this will get ugly."

Brodsky's radio clicked again. "We confirm three more, gaining on the five."

Ironhide grunted. "Really ugly." As much as he wanted to see to the safety of his new human friend, it was imperative that he get to the coordinates before the incoming made impact. He transformed and gunned it, driving faster than any TopKick was designed to.

Meanwhile, Morris did not leave right away, instead staying long enough to arrange a Sector Seven-grade camouflage net over the gap in the scarp face. He had left the net there earlier, knowing it would be up to him to protect the deceased alien. It truly had been fortuitous that an Autobot had been in town. His remaining contact in the United States among The Last Seven had warned that going to ARROW with the discovery would be a bad idea.

* * *

As Ironhide raced toward the indicated impact site he considered his new dilemma. He immediately discounted that all eight would be Autobots. It would either be four versus five or six versus three.

He didn't want to think about one versus eight.

The weapon problem still remained. He would need something more than just temporary access. He could still create a new one from the hundreds of schematics in his database. The thing was, his cannons had been perfected and preferred for the last three hundred years. The majority of the system for them was integral to his weapon mode, which was exactly the issue he had mentioned to Ratchet. He would have to enforce several overrides to adapt a second system.

Out of all of this, however, he came to understand exactly what his Dreamtime had been telling him: War would find _him._ He was in for the fight and in it until it was over.

So be it. He had a world to protect.

When he halted he noted how conveniently isolated the area was. He was glad he had met Morris; if he happened to "disappear" out here, there would be at least one human who knew exactly where he was. He again didn't want to think about details -- had someone among the Decepticons found out he was here, and intended to outnumber and overwhelm him? He also tried not to think too hard on the possibility that the Stunticons had left the planet and were now returning with reinforcements.

Ironhide looked up at the night sky and saw the first five burning through the bottom layer of the atmosphere. They would make impact in seconds. Gears whirred and cables shifted around beneath his armor as he transformed the structure of his back to create a pair of energy-miniguns, mounting them over his shoulders with pivotal joints so he could move around and shoot in multiple directions. They weren't as powerful a weapon as either of his cannons, but it was something. He could improvise with melee tactics if he had to.

A quick glance around the ground didn't offer up any weapon that could be procured from the native surroundings.

He would just have to borrow one from his opponents.

The five impacts sounded off in quick succession. They rose as protoforms but within their first few steps forward they had formed up armor plating. Ironhide chose not to shoot at them in the few seconds they were vulnerable, just in case they _were_ Autobots.

Yet, no. He raised his head stoically as five pairs of malicious red optics looked upon him. Their bodies were different but he knew their faces.

The Combaticons had finally come to Earth.

**To Be Continued**

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_Author's Note #2: I promise this is the last cliffhanger of the fic. XD_


	13. Chapter 12

_Author's Note: Okay, I think after this chapter everyone will be back in the same time frame. %D | Huzzah for notes laying around for months finally being put together in order...  
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**Renewal - Part Twelve**

_Washington D.C., ETA two hours till Australia planetfall_

Two weeks had passed since Skywarp had popped up near the Pentagon and subsequently popped out and up again at every military air strip along the east coast throughout the same day. Once the Air Force had figured out the pattern they had tried to prepare attacks and traps. Nothing so much as a ding touched the Decepticon, for there was no way to predict _where_ on the base he would appear. The last sighting was exactly at midnight, EST. There hadn't been a sign of the purple jet since then. Agents were still working to find out if it had been a distraction to cover yet another Decepticon operation or if the jet had moved to foreign shores.

So far no other country had reported sightings. The idea was being considered that Skywarp had received word of the Decepticon defeat in the Pacific and had taken cover somewhere. For that very reason the Autobots were creating their own holding area within the Ark to imprison the captured Decepticons, save for Tidal Wave. He had been dry docked in a former Sector Seven warehouse and was under guard by Inferno, Firestar, and some of the ARROW agents who hadn't sided with Tom Banachek. Banachek and his men were still being watched. Swindle had a small army of his six-legged drones studying every inch of the tunnels and chambers around the main one Banachek was working in. A task force was being organized to use that information to get in and arrest the rogue agent.

Not being involved in any of the proceedings, Maggie and Glen were having lunch at an outdoor cafe. They avoided talking shop when in public so their conversation was about the next best thing: video games.

"So, I lined up my sights, and -- _BOOM! Headshot!"_ Glen started guffawing. "The other guy was like, "Dude, that was my kill!' and I was like, 'Hey, you snooze, you lose!'"

Maggie laughed along with him, more amused by his enthusiasm than the story, and reached for her cup. She then looked down as her pager went off. Tilting it, she saw a message from Epps scroll across the screen. _Talk to Latch._ No other details followed.

"What is it?" Glen asked before polishing off his fries.

"Bobby wants me to speak with our mutual friend."

"What about?" He looked apprehensive. He had become friends with Rattlelatch despite not yet being an official partner like Maggie was, and knew that messages from Epps usually meant official business.

"Doesn't say. I'd guess he wants me to just check up on him." The green bot hadn't left the data analysis room in the two weeks since the incident. He was diligently working on securing networks and hunting for digital traces of Decepticon activity, yet Maggie had begun to wonder about something, and it seemed Bobby might have noticed the same before heading out for the Banachek mission. She sipped her drink through the straw and stared thoughtfully at Glen's plate.

"Want me to come along?"

"Nah. It should be fine." In truth she was thinking, _It would be better if I talk to him alone._

* * *

Maggie knocked on the door to the analysis room then waited to see if someone human would answer it. When no one appeared, she slid her clearance key and silently entered. Rattlelatch was sitting hunched up toward one corner, the cables to the surrounding databanks still connected to him. He was not working, however. He was rolling the jar containing Kickback between his hands, his gaze distant.

"'Latch..?" she called quietly. He glanced over at her and seemed to hunch down further. Maggie made sure the door locked shut then she sat down in one of the rolling chairs and scooted it toward him until she could have touched his leg, then waited.

He glanced at her from the corner of his optical structure, his face openly expressing guilt. In a way it relieved her, because it was honest. If Glen or anyone else had been there, he would have tried to look blank or pretend to be distracted.

"I'm not much of a heroic Autobot," he finally said. "It's so much easier to attack from behind coding and data streams. But if the enemy is bigger than me and right in front of me..." He raised the jar to optic level. _"I_ might as well be in this jar."

Maggie leaned forward in the chair and placed her hand on his shin. "It's okay, 'Latch. You didn't see me racing out to fight beside Bobby's team. _We_ had our job to do right here."

He gave her the guilty look again. "You aren't a giant, transforming robot. I'm _expected_ to go up against a Decepticon simply because I am one." He set the jar down on a console and then rested his arms on top of his knees, adding in a morose tone, "Not all humans can be soldiers. Same with us."

A rush of anger filled Maggie as she realized something. "Did someone accuse you of that?"

Rattlelatch flicked his gaze to the floor, then gestured around him with one hand. "I've... glimpsed the occasional personal email while running between networks."

Maggie scowled and wondered who she could go to in order to stop such talk.

Rattlelatch peeked at her and saw that she was angry, but not at him. "No, no, please don't tell, I... I shouldn't let it bother me. It's a natural assumption. I... don't blame them, really. I... I just wish... I wish that some days I could just be a regular car." He flicked another glance her way. "Well, _your_ car, because I like working with you. But I want to just do what _I_ do. I... don't want to keep being obligated to fight a war I'm sick of." The last came out with a burst of static. Maggie took it for a frustrated sob. She patted his shin, not saying anything but wanting to offer sympathy.

A creak came from Rattlelatch's hands as he clenched his fists. "I want to have a chance at life again."

She heard resentment in his tone now. Her hand went still. They needed to talk more. "'Latch, let's go for a drive." Before he could reply, she hopped up and opened the section of wall that exited to the car-sized hallway. The short bot blinked at her, then quickly extricated himself from the cables connecting his hardware to the surrounding computers. He transformed then opened his driver's side door for her. Maggie climbed in and set her hands on the wheel even though the green Honda Fit drove itself into the hall and toward the exit. The wall closed a moment later.

Behind them, laying still in the ventilation duct above the left hand bank of computers, were two much smaller mechs, their attention on the glass jar forgotten on a console. Rumble hissed in irritation over a private line to Frenzy. _"That's_ the chump we're aimin' for? He's a whiny little loser!"

"He disabled Laserbeak and Buzzsaw," Frenzy reminded him sharply. "He is trouble."

"Yeah, well, he'll be _in_ trouble very soon," Rumble cackled as he worked the vent cover loose. They had already set the cameras to a ten minute delay -- easy enough when Rattlelatch had been sitting in the same spot for hours. Rumble leaped down, scurried over to the console where the Autobot had left Kickback, and snatched up the jar without acknowledging the bug inside. He kept low as he headed back to the vent's opening, gazing hungrily at the monitors. He tossed the jar to Frenzy, who secured it within the shaft then jumped down and pounced on the nearest console. _This_ time he made sure no one would notice his intrusion into the system. Rumble, meanwhile, hacked into the security system again to watch for anyone approaching. They both had to skim across the protections installed by Rattlelatch, but they had begun to learn how to adapt around some of his work.

_"Here, birdy birdies..."_

* * *

_The Ark, ETA one hour till Australia planetfall_

Ratchet watched Broadcast's vital signatures fluctuate again. He made an adjustment to one of the energy feeds, never taking his gaze from the screen. The lines evened out, and after five more minutes of steady readings the medic turned the vigil over to Thundercracker, who had just left Dirge to his own recharge in a partitioned-off part of the room. Both former Decepticons had been quiet while Dirge had undergone repairs, but there was no anger between them nor any directed at the Autobots. Dirge seemed sullen every time he was online, but Ratchet had decided that it was merely natural for him. The only non-diagnostic conversation Ratchet'd had with him was Dirge asking which form suited his future mass better, a Tu-95 Bear or an AV-8A Harrier. Ratchet had advised him to make a choice based more on what he thought his new function would be. Dirge hadn't spoken to him since then. The medic liked to believe he was thinking about it.

He also understood that Dirge was a potential problem that related to his next patients. With the Decepticons captured aboard Tidal Wave being imprisoned at the Ark there was a chance that Dirge might change his mind and free them. Thundercracker had sworn to keep him in line and away from the stasis-locked 'Cons, yet Ratchet also needed to determine if they would unintentionally be reactivated by exposure or proximity to the four humans present.

Bumblebee had brought Sam and Mikaela to the Ark to try to find an explanation for the boy's reaction to the Cybertronian glyphs. Sam had snapped back to his normal self as soon as the images had been removed from the screen as if nothing had ever happened. He had even protested against going to the Ark. "My vacation is almost over! I can't think about some weird trance just because I looked at alien symbols! I need to get ready for school! I just won't look at them again, seriously."

Now Sam sat on the edge of a third exam table with Mikaela and Will beside him. Simmons was pacing behind them, stopping occasionally to write something on a notepad. Once or twice he went to Lennox to show him the pad, and they would quietly discuss it. Meanwhile, in between these notes Will was visibly anxious. He kept rubbing his hands. Ratchet had surmised that he was worried over the idea that he had somehow activated the key to the Ark just by picking it up. As for what Simmons kept talking to him about the medic couldn't begin to guess. He had become accustomed to Reggie's constant presence in the Ark even though the man was quite enigmatic.

Approaching the table, Ratchet took note of how Sam had his arms folded over his chest and was gripping his upper arms tightly. The boy raised a desperate look to him and blurted, "I want to be normal!"

"I know. Your distress is quite clear. But it is not for me to decide, only to determine a possible underlying cause." Ratchet's optics flared brightly as he scanned each human in turn. He then projected all four images in the air above them, switching rapidly through views of their skeletons, nervous system, lymph system, arteries, veins, and internal organs. "Will, please stand and walk to the other side of the table then return, even stride, same path."

Lennox did so, his military discipline keeping him in the exact same space, exact same pace both ways. The x-ray projection followed seamlessly. Ratchet switched amongst the views as man and projection went, looking for a hint of any type of Cybertronian energy residing within Will. Finally, as Lennox stopped beside Simmons, Ratchet flipped back and forth through views of his arteries, organs, and veins. The medic emitted a low, thoughtful rumble.

Reggie stepped back to study the scans for himself. "I think I'm seeing what you're seeing, Ratch. Can you overlay those images, zoom in on the upper half of his body?" Will shot him an annoyed look which said he didn't appreciate being treated like a Sector Seven experiment. Reggie didn't notice, his attention on the chest region of the projected scan. "There!" He pointed. "Brain to heart. Not going up, only coming back. Some kind of... well, not a surge, but it's something." He glanced up at Ratchet quizzically. "I would think any type of electrical energy would be moving through the nervous system, not the blood. In human physiology, anyway."

Ratchet nodded with another thoughtful noise. He then projected the other three from the waist up, moving the images back so the humans could more easily see themselves. Sam and Mikaela stood to see better as well. Sam squinted at his image then looked at Lennox's, and he saw what Simmons had indicated. There was a more obvious pulse in his own and in Reggie's while Mikaela's was less noticeable.

"Strength is dictated by the the amount of time you were each exposed to the Allspark, or spent holding it, I would guess," Ratchet said. "Sam used it against Megatron..." He peered at the others to let them volunteer their encounters with the Cube.

"I was only near it for that little time in Hoover Dam and on the drive to Mission City," Mikaela answered.

"I picked it up while we were in the city," Lennox said, his tone pensive.

"And I hung out in the viewing room over the Allspark chamber," Reggie replied, a different level of thought in his voice; he was curious where Will was concerned. "Then there's the people who were crawling all over it studying it..."

Ratchet let the scans fade out, but not before they reflected three increased heart rates. "I highly suspect you have all absorbed some of the Allspark energy. However, I do not know what long term effects it might have. I will have to run some tests." His optics dimmed as he considered the questions raised.

"Nothing weird happened to the people working around the Cube every day -- that I know of," Reggie said. "I don't think transforming fleshlings are next on the evolutionary chain. You guys can't imitate organics, right?" He glanced at Ratchet. "Look at how the 'Cons have tried with their impressions of wildlife. Just a collection of plates in the shape of a cat. I don't think we have any need to worry."

"Except when Sam goes into trances," Mikaela reminded him with sarcasm. "Nope, nothing wrong there."

"I meant in terms of us mutating into some kind of technorganics," Simmons replied defensively. He gave Sam an apologetic look. "Sorry, kid."

Ratchet scanned Sam again, this time using the spectrum he utilized for his fellow Cybertronians. He displayed the empty grid results on a blank outline of the boy's body. "No Cybertronian material is present. Having had a physical hand in usage of the Cube may have deposited a larger amount of energy in you, Sam, somehow making you react to the symbols..." Ratchet's voice trailed off as something else occurred to him.

The humans all looked at him expectantly. Mikaela was the one who prompted, "Ratchet..?"

"I'll need samples of your blood," the medic abruptly answered, turning in a rush to a small white box on the side counter. He sounded uneasy as he continued, "There may be something to your technorganics theory after all, Reginald, but not exactly as you were thinking."

After carefully drawing blood from each of the humans, Ratchet called up Perceptor to confer with him as he ran the tests. In the meantime, Sam and Mikaela sat silently holding hands, Will returned to his own thoughts, and Reggie went back to his notes, mumbling out loud now and then. No one paid him any mind.

Suddenly Reggie grabbed Will by one shoulder, thrusting the note pad toward him. "I've got it! Can't believe it took me this long. Look, these are all the former S-7 agents who didn't side with Banachek. They are _also_ all people who either worked directly on the Allspark or were exposed to it regularly. The guys who are with him now were no where _near_ that project but did _know_ about it." He folded his arms, looking satisfied with himself.

"So, what, Banachek's buddies have jealousy issues?" Sam sniped, deflating Reggie's ego for a second.

Lennox sighed. "That just gives us a list of people who need to be tested for -- whatever." He turned a hard stare on Ratchet's back.

"It could be," Simmons defended, "a reason why the Autobots have as many allies as they do amongst former S-7 agents. We weren't supposed to play favorites with our projects, just secure and study. These people," he tapped the notepad, "might have 'seen the light', as it were, about considering the Transformers to be living, breathing, feeling beings as opposed to war machines whose technology we should steal. The Allspark showed them, either on its own or conclusions they drew while studying it."

He held up a hand as he saw Lennox and Sam about to comment. "I never touched it directly myself, so I can't say for sure." He peered back pointedly at the younger men.

"We -- I already knew that before handling the Cube," Sam said, glancing at Lennox after presuming to speak for him. Will only nodded.

They heard a rush of air as through a metal tube. An accompanying rumble clarified the sound as Ratchet sighing. The Autobot medic came back over to the humans, his optics dim before brightening to project a cross section of his findings. "You have nanites in your blood. They have disguised themselves as red blood cells. They have integrated with your organic matter so precisely as to be indistinguishable unless someone was looking for them _and_ had the equipment to detect them, which my lab does and your hospitals do not. They are housed in your version of a CPU -- your brain -- and are traveling through your blood stream. They are not interfering with the operation of your natural blood cells and it would appear some of them are imitating those cells' function." He projected an image of a system of arteries and veins with tiny glittering specks flowing along the normal routes. "I have not yet determined why there is only a pulse when they travel from the brain to the heart, nor do I know what their purpose is or will be. They may have reacted to the proximity of the key to the Ark and to the familiarity of the symbols being read." He nodded to Will and Sam. "At the moment they appear physically harmless."

Mikaela gripped Sam's hand. "What does that mean for us?"

Ratchet's optics dimmed again. "I don't know."

Sam swallowed hard. "So are we like part Cybertronian now?"

"No. You are... your own entity."

Hoarsely Reggie quoted, _"The Allspark can create worlds and fill them with life._ Not all life made by the Allspark is necessarily Cybertronian."

There was a metallic _whirr_ and from around the partition came Thundercracker and a dim-opticked Dirge. The latter stared at the humans intently. Thundercracker had more of a trepidatious expression. The humans gazed uneasily back at them. Then Thundercracker asked, "Is it _all_ humans, or just the ones who were in contact with the Cube?"

"I would have to test them to find out," Ratchet replied, also watching Dirge. "Preferably Tom Banachek and his team."

Dirge uttered an electronic grunt and disappeared back behind the partition. The _whirr_ repeated and Thundercracker looked over his shoulder, then informed the others, "Back to recharge." He looked over at the humans. "He meant no harm. We overheard, and he wanted to be sure he was not imagining things." He turned to Ratchet. "If the Allspark energy can bond with humans it could mean any number of things for our race."

Ratchet's response came over a private line to the Neutral. "Our race's fate is sealed. My concern lays more with theirs." He shared a quick grid construction of Megatron's successor harvesting humans to try to collect the Allspark energy out of them. Thundercracker shuddered visibly.

As if on cue an alert began to sound over the PA speakers, followed by Jazz's voice. "Attention, all Autobots an' guests. We have incomin' planetfall, party of eight, IFF unknown. I repeat, incomin' planetfall of eight unknowns. Coordinates are as follows."

As Jazz rattled off the time and trajectory for the southern hemisphere, Thundercracker and Ratchet traded grim looks. Simmons checked his watch. "We'll never make it in time. Maybe if we--"

"I can try," Thundercracker cut him off. "I can fly faster than any human jet." He looked at Ratchet again. "I can try."

Silence from the medic answered him. In the background over the PA came a yell from someone about getting Huffer's shuttle airborne. Argument came in the form of the size of the shuttle crew versus the number of incoming.

"Eight," Lennox repeated over the comm noise. He stared down at the table top as if it had a solution for him. "How many Decepticons do we know of still floating out there?" He began to tick them off on his fingers. "Five Combaticons, Astrotrain..."

"Any number of Soundwave's lot." Ratchet provided. "They could _all_ be his. There is a high likelihood he sent them a message before he was defeated."

"It could be anyone," Mikaela interjected. "We can't just wonder about it. We need to decide what we're going to _do_ about it." She tilted her head toward Thundercracker.

Ratchet emitted a low, slow release of air from his upper vents. He opened a line to Optimus, speaking aloud to include the humans. "Prime, Thundercracker has volunteered to recon the planetfall. He can make it if he leaves now."

Ratchet may have been the only one relieved to hear Optimus' response was the same as his own. "No. He needs to remain here. Windcharger and Huffer are leaving on the shuttle." Thundercracker's faceplates flattened, then he spun toward the partition, disappearing behind it.

Ratchet sighed to himself and went about taking the humans down from the table so they could have a break. He then checked on Broadcast and his optics dimmed once more upon reading the monitor that measured the strain on the unconscious mech's spark. He opened a line to Moonracer to ask about the progress on Broadcast's new body. It was all he _could_ do.

* * *

_California desert, ETA fifteen minutes to Australia planetfall_

"Well now, _that's_ interesting," Swindle murmured for the third time in an hour, his gaze riveted to the tiny screen on his arm.

Seated beside him, Tracks rolled his optical cameras. "Your video commentary leaves much to be desired."

Swindle raised his head and the image of the generic mechanoid displayed on his chest screen affected a grin. "Patience. These pieces might be about to come together."

"Perhaps if you shared we could come to a conclusion before the humans come to completion." Tracks had lost patience with Swindle two days earlier. The only thing keeping him from calling up the Ark and demanding that someone be sent to relieve him was knowing that the infiltration mission was soon to go into action. Swindle's drones had located an access tunnel and had discreetly hacked the security system to disable the alarms and sensors in that area while making it appear they were still active. There were more EMP fields in place, so the two robots were staked out a mile away and were ready to retreat or move in as needed.

They saw the pink and black motorcycle before they heard it -- and even then it was running so quietly as to be mere wind over the desert scrub. It was no mere bike. The driver parked, climbed off, and took off his helmet, revealing a grim Robert Epps. The motorcycle transformed. Arcee eyed Swindle warily. "I'm backup," she proclaimed tersely.

Tracks nodded to her, then said to Bobby, "The team is in place. All of Banachek's men are accounted for. We are ready on your--"

"Hold up," Swindle interrupted in an odd tone. His chest screen fizzled then showed an animated image of Earth's southern hemisphere and the trajectories of eight incoming meteors, three lagging behind the others. "News from the Land Down Under -- they've got a planetfall. Chatter says they didn't receive word of it from any Autobots." A split second later Tracks and Arcee received Jazz's report. Swindle then switched his screen to multiple images of Banachek's team as transmitted by his drones. If they had also intercepted the news they did not react to it.

"Nothing we can do," Epps said quietly. "We'll deal with what's on our plate right here." Inside he was praying it wouldn't be more Decepticons.

**To Be Continued**


	14. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: This story did not develop in the direction I had originally planned, so it's time to end it and move on to the next part in the trilogy._

_

* * *

_

**Renewal - Chapter Thirteen**

Onslaught silently gazed at the mech who was their welcoming party as his team stepped out of their impact craters. His private comm line to the other Combaticons, however, was instantly full of chatter. Outwardly none of them gave any indication they were talking. A low droning came from Tankor. Gutcruncher hissed - he was digging his claws into the ground, anticipating the order to attack. Vortex snarled over the line, "Ironhide? What is _he_ doing here?"

"Do you think he had something to do with the energy surge we detected from this land mass?" Blast Off asked as he took to the air in robot mode.

"I would not doubt the possibility," Onslaught replied. "I do know that his cannons are powered down." He lowered his technical scan level and continued to watch the Autobot, who was in a defensive stance and equally sizing him up. Onslaught refrained from blinking, waiting and relishing the growing tension.

"Let us hit him fast, then!" Vortex cried over the line. "Take him down before our tail arrives!"

"Do not be so eager. He should not be underestimated." The Combaticon leader had much respect for Ironhide. He had an exact count of the number of altercations that ended in a stalemate with the Autobot weapons specialist. Even when outnumbered he could hold the field until his reinforcements arrived - which was the very dilemma before them now.

"On my mark," Onslaught said slowly.

* * *

Ironhide had begrudging respect for the Combaticons. They worked well as a team, and Onslaught's tactics were always sound. He calculated the energy he would need for a pulse blast to neutralize Tankor's cannon as the heavy support mech folded down into his alt mode beside Onslaught. Blast Off was in the air already and Vortex transformed to join him. When they inevitably swooped in he planned to strafe them with the mini-guns. He had to choose between Gutcruncher and Onslaught for the first missile he would be able to fire in that same space of time.

It all depended on the override codes for his main weapons working, of course. He knew they would, but an alternate strategy or two that included neither of the cannons wouldn't hurt.

All the while his scanners were tracking the progress of the other three meteors. If the Combaticons chose to dog pile him, he would be down and out before they arrived. Decisions made, he snorted air from his olfactory sensor and input the codes. He felt a sudden drain of his stored energy but the glow from his cannons was a welcome sight.

The Combaticons moved as one. Vortex buzzed him, Blast Off strafed from dual machine guns on both his arms. Tankor's barrel lit up as a charge built. Gutcruncher dashed to flank him on the left. Despite the machine gun fire peppering his shoulders, Ironhide's pulse blast knocked Tankor's cannon askew just as the Decepticon fired. Ironhide dove and rolled to the right to avoid the crackling yellow beam, firing a missile in his wake that struck Gutcruncher and staggered him. The Autobot came up on his feet and kept Vortex at bay with one mini-gun, the other tilting wildly to chase after Blast Off as he circled. Before Tankor could recover, Ironhide closed to where another blast from the heavy support mech would knock down the both of them as well as Onslaught.

Ironhide immediately rolled again. He felt the vibration in the air of Onslaught's sonic stun gun passing over him and he remained low, spraying mini-gun fire to where his radar claimed Gutcruncher to be. Machine gun shots rained over him again. A second later a low-yield missile detonated against his right-side doors, jarring his shoulder. Another slammed down just as he got to his feet. He hunched down, retracing the paths of the missiles. A half dozen more hit all around him - disorientation tactic. He grunted and boosted his radar to locate the five as the barrage continued. He took one to the shoulder again, lower this time. Someone was trying to disrupt his own missile cannon. He rerouted the power to his other weapons then flicked his arm. The cannon reformed into plating. He used that arm as a shield as he bounded up and dashed further to the left - again toward Tankor. The other Combaticons had been working on surrounding him. Weapons were trained on him yet they did not fire. Ironhide processed another layer of radar. The three meteors were about to hit.

The lack of action from the Combaticons made him wary that things _would_ turn into eight versus one. He spared a glance eastward where the body of the ancient Cybertronian rested.

With a loud hiss of steam he again rerouted power and energy, all of the remaining stored and converted solar power going to his pulse cannon. He locked optics with Onslaught as the Combaticon leader sent another volley of missiles his way. Ironhide touched the point of the cannon to the ground and released the gathered energy. It drained him more than he had expected, causing him to stagger weakly, but the result was as he had hoped.

A sphere of yellow-tinged light enveloped the area, swallowing the Combaticons and the lone Autobot. Ironhide dropped to his hands and knees, his processor reeling. The light blocked the Combaticons from his view, but likewise they could not see him. He scuttled away from his last position, forcing overrides on his disrupted neural relays. The flare from the energy release would soon begin to fade. Whether the three incoming were friend or foe he needed a more permanent way to put the Combaticons out of commission.

The beginnings of a plan were immediately forgotten as agony ripped through him. A three-pronged vice closed around his left shin and _squeezed._ A red visor came into view above him. Tankor had found him at the edge of the light globe. Ironhide tilted a mini-gun and emptied the last rounds into the Combaticon's face. The visor cracked but Tankor did not let go. Instead he shifted, raised his arm, and tossed Ironhide out into the open. The Autobot skidded across the ground, landing face down.

An unfamiliar engine gunned somewhere to the right, then a gray vehicle shot between them, smoke funneling out from multiple sets of gill vents on one side. Ironhide pushed himself up on his arms and tried to get a visual on Tankor but realized that _nothing_ beyond the smoke was registering on his radar. All he saw in the regular visual spectrum was a massive cloud of gray. Not even the light that should have still remained from his energy release was visible.

The smoke drifted over him. He heard the engine again, then the sound of transformation, and then someone grabbed his arms and pulled. He attempted to use the momentum to get his feet under him. His left leg argued against it. The mechanoid pulling him gave a grunt of effort and resorted to dragging him. A second, smaller set of hands grasped him under his right arm and assisted with the dragging.

"Clear!" called a male voice from the direction of the second set of hands. Ironhide was certain he had heard the voice before. He couldn't see who was being signaled, but he next heard a sharp whistle and felt the air behind him try to tug him back toward the thick of the smoke cloud. Five distinct clatters followed.

A few seconds later he was set down then helped to turn over and sit smoke was thinning here, aided by swipes of the hand by a mech the same gray as the smoke. He was looking at something beyond where Ironhide sat. "Well, what do you know - that thing of yours finally worked!"

"It's always _worked,_ it just needed the right gravity."

Now that accent Ironhide knew, even adapted into English. "Wheeljack..?" His voice faded in and out on the word. The energy drain was still affecting him. He tried to talk anyway. "Frickin' 'Cons... broke your ship... Sorry."

"Easy there, big guy. Lemme help you compensate for that bright stunt you pulled, then we'll talk. Need to do something about that leg, too."

"Yes," Ironhide agreed unnecessarily. He squinted his optic shutters as the Autobot Chief Engineer came into view. He still had a blunted crest along the top of his helmet and the vent-like structures on either side of his head that flickered with light when he spoke. His armor might have been white underneath what looked like the scorching effect of standing at the epicenter of a high-yield blast. Yet it was the odd, asymmetrical layered guard over the lower half of his face that made Ironhide stare.

Wheeljack saw that he had noticed and briefly touched the additional armor piece. "Yeah, something blew up in my face. But it isn't what you think." Ironhide didn't ask, sitting as still as he could while Wheeljack worked to reset his energy distribution. The engineer whistled when he came across the changes to Ironhide's cannons. "Now that's creative. Ratchet's work, right? The converter would've kept working, too, even after the initial reuse of the weapons. That mass expulsion shorted it out, though. I can give you another boost of temporary access, but a full fix will have to wait for Ratchet."

As Wheeljack turned his attention to the warrior's wounded leg a clanging sound drew Ironhide's gaze to the dissipating smoke. The third mech was kicking the downed Gutcruncher in the head. He stopped after a few more kicks and gave a quick wave of one hand. "Hey, Ironhide. Long time no see." He was shorter than the other two and was armored in red, one of the horns on his helm jagged on top from the tip being broken off.

"Cliffjumper. You _are_ alive."

"If some Decepticon bragged that he'd killed me in the Battle for Zortaltian VIII, it was a lie." He dusted off his hands as he approached. "But, yeah, was out in the outer reaches for a long time. We didn't know if Prime's message was still good when we received it, but we followed it to this solar system. Stopped to rest on Mars 'cause we picked up Cybertronian energy, thought it was a way station. We saw _these_ chumps just in time - you know, before they saw us. We holed up elsewhere on the planet and kept an eye on them, monitoring for more messages from Prime, getting to know Earth stuff." He grinned. "Congratulations on killing Megatron _twice!"_

"Twice?" It sounded more like a confused grunt.

Cliffjumper deciphered the word, however, and gave him a weird look. "Isn't that why the Combaticons suddenly took off? Onslaught was champing at the bit for the chance to drop all other contenders for leadership of the 'Cons when they heard the news."

Ironhide's optics dimmed. "I have been a little... out of the loop."

"Radio silence mission?" Cliffjumper surmised.

"On leave for a personal mission."

Wheeljack and Cliffjumper both looked at him with curiosity. He shook his head. "Later. We have more important business here." He then glanced up at the gray mech.

"Smokescreen," he introduced himself with a small smile, reading the look. "New recruit. Former civilian," he added at the caution that appeared in Ironhide's face. "I was in the outer reaches on business when the Decepticons came through. I didn't appreciate them trying to level my company assets, so I volunteered to help Cliffjumper's crew."

Ironhide's optics dimmed again as he glanced from Wheeljack to the red mech. "Are you all that remains of your team, then?" They nodded solemnly.

"We did pick up someone else on the way, though," Cliffjumper said with a single upraised finger, which he then pointed skyward with. "He's beating up Astrotrain back on Mars."

Ironhide's optics brightened and he rumbled thoughtfully. "Someone big enough to handle Astrotrain would be a great help in what we need to take care of here."

Cliffjumper smacked a fist into his open palm. "Well, tell us! I'll call him down!"

"I need to _show_ you." As Wheeljack continued to repair his leg, Ironhide explained - minus certain personal details - how he had met Morris and the discovery the human had shown him.

"You're sure of the radiation type?" Wheeljack asked, pushing Ironhide's leg plating into its correct alignment.

"Yes."

Wheeljack sat back after he finished and ran his fingertips over his mouth guard. He did not comment further.

Cliffjumper glanced at the downed Combaticons and grinned. "Well, at least we can deal with it in peace. We've got the Decepticons beat!"

The sound of a distant helicopter drew their attention eastward. Ironhide's head went up sharply as he sought it out. He sighed heavily. "And now we have even more explaining to do."

* * *

When Windcharger and Huffer approached the estimated impact site, the shuttle's visual sensors displayed several things neither had expected: A helicopter belonging to the Australian Defense Force, three standing mechs, five more mechs laid out in a row on the ground, and a familiar large black pick up truck.

Ironhide.

The two transmitted the visual to the Ark as the shuttle's IFF marked the five downed mechs as the Combaticons and two of the standing bots as Wheeljack and Cliffjumper. The third - who, incidentally, was the one speaking with the humans - was unknown to them and the shuttle's database.

The group's attention was immediately diverted to the shuttle, Ironhide transforming with a particular speed. A message from Huffer made the group relax. Even so, he and Windcharger disembarked with hands raised as a sign of peace. Upon approach they saw the varying official uniforms of the humans, except for one who looked like an average tourist.

Ironhide merely nodded and grunted by way of greeting. The two minibots knew better than to ask how he had ended up there, of all the times and places to be. Still, when all the humans turned to their helicopter, Huffer couldn't help making the gruff comment to Ironhide, "I see you have everything in hand here."

"They did most of the work," Ironhide replied quietly, tilting his head toward Wheeljack, then glancing at the one human in causal clothes. The man had left the others and was returning to the gathered Autobots.

"Morris Brodsky," he introduced himself, turning to smile at each bot. "Pleasure to meet all of you."

"We have something to show you," Ironhide said, motioning to Wheeljack in particular. "Smokescreen, would you mind guarding them?" He pointed to the Combaticons.

"Not at all." The gray mech nodded and stepped over to the stasis-locked Decepticons. Ironhide transformed and let Morris in on his passenger side. He waited for the others to take vehicle form, then he led them and the helicopter toward the fault scarp.

Once there Morris deactivated the camouflage net. Ironhide was almost afraid the body would no longer be there, as if the Combaticons were merely a diversion, but there was a collective gasp from humans and bots alike at the sight. Wheeljack slid right down beside the exposed section and began projecting three-dimensional readings and graphs around himself. "You're right to keep the humans back, Ironhide. The radiation's still high. But...it shouldn't be, even for a Prime, and having been buried so long..." Wheeljack tapped his mouth plate, the light projections spinning around him.

Huffer tried to keep up with the numbers and chemical lists scrolling in the air but ended up cross-eyed. He finally grabbed Wheeljack's raised arm, distracting him from projecting the data. "That means there was an additional source of radiation."

"Perhaps whatever it was that killed him," Ironhide suggested.

Wheeljack nodded and proceeded to analyze what he had gleaned from the body and surrounding rock, refraining from projecting data outwardly this time. His headfins flickered a few times, and although he said nothing, the others could hear the low hum of his processors working away. Huffer began to pick at the glass and obsidian, running some analyses of his own. Windcharger and Cliffjumper wandered further along the scarp, talking privately, catching each other up on recent events. Morris, while keeping a respectable distance away, watched Huffer and Wheeljack in interest.

Finally Wheeljack's headfins flashed brightly for several seconds as he sighed. "I think I might know the source. Lemme talk with Smokescreen. He mentioned something similar one time."

"Like _what?"_ Huffer asked, brushing his hands off. "I haven't seen anything like this before."

Wheeljack, being accustomed to the shorter bot's attitude, explained calmly, "The isotopes resulting from flash-heated electrum produce a rare radiation, and electrum doesn't occur naturally on Earth nor about two-thirds of the planets in the universe. It also can't be created artificially."

"So...this guy was armored in electrum at some point?" Huffer jerked a thumb toward the body.

"No. The one who killed him was."

* * *

"Hands in the air, NOW! All of you!"

The infiltration had gone without a hitch. Swindle's drones had done exactly what he had said they would. No alarms triggered, no security intervention, and now Epps stared hard with his gun trained on Tom Banachek. He saw the slow nod the former Sector Seven agent gave to his crew, and anyone who had hesitated to raise their hands before immediately raised them now.

Tom stared right back at him and spoke as if Bobby had been in on everything the entire time. "We've translated some of these writings. Somethin' is comin'."

"Yeah? So why didn't you share this earlier-" Epps indicated the chamber with a brief pointing of his chin, his eyes not leaving Banachek's face. "Y'know, _before_ you betrayed the country?"

"No Americans were harmed in the takeover. Just a temporary suppression of freedom for the good of the majority."

"Is that your fancy term for mind control?" Epps stepped closer, gun remaining level. "_'Temporary suppression of freedom'._ And what about the Cybertronian you _illegally detained?"_

Banachek's grim mien never changed. "Don't trust him."

"Same way we trusted you?" Epps tilted his gun toward the main entrance. "Out. Now. All of you. You can make your excuses to the President." In the back of his mind Bobby was braced for the other shoe to drop. As the member's of Banachek's team filed past him with his men matched one for one, he waited for any _'Hail ISOC!'_ nonsense. Yet the line moved quickly and peacefully.

That made him worry even more. He clicked a button on an Autobot-provided wristwatch that would notify Tracks and Swindle of his concern. Out of the corner of his eye Epps saw the response: the tiny drones swarming over the equipment, finding their way inside to shut down every last circuit.

It only made him feel just as uneasy. He hit another button that signalled only to Tracks.

* * *

"_'Something is coming'_? Do you have any idea what he is on about?" Tracks asked Swindle. He didn't like the way the mechanoid face displayed on Swindle's chest screen was looking - intrigued with its optics shifting, the calculation of profit clear as day.

"Must be something worth risking his reputation for," Swindle replied, his tone too absent for Tracks' liking. Then the other mech looked right at him, both camera and screen image. "He was very loyal to his government at one time. It sounded to me like he knew what was best."

"But what would killing _us_ have to do with the message he thinks he decoded in there?" Tracks made no acknowledgment of Firestar creeping around in Swindle's blind spot.

"Maybe he thinks we attracted whatever is coming."

"You _do_ know something." Firestar stepped down beside Swindle, a small side-arm style muzzle protruding from her left forearm, which she held slightly behind her.

Swindle pivoted his camera toward her. "It isn't the Vok, at least." He lifted his arm to show the scurrying drones.

He started to turn away, but she grabbed the top of his lense casing and forced his gaze back to hers. "You and these Vok. Forget them. Is it Cybertronian? Is it of us?"

"Won't know until we decipher all of those glyphs, will we?" Swindle's camera zoomed in and out behind the glass as if lining up the perfect photo of her - or as if implying that he wasn't going to reveal anything else. "Put the gun away, please. We still have a deal." Firestar's gaze didn't waver, but her arm clacked as the panels folded down. "Let's get this data to the geek squad, shall we?" Swindle flicked the cover down on the small screen in his arm, now monitoring his drones internally.

Tracks sent a signal to Epps to confirm the soldier's unease.

* * *

Bobby was waiting for the reply. He pointed to the team who was to remain behind to disassemble the equipment, and gave them a sign to take note of what the drones were doing.

The hum of machinery around them abruptly stopped. The drones retreated and lined up in perfect rows against one of the walls that did not have any equipment near it. Epps received another coded message from Tracks telling him the barrier had been lowered and Swindle was about to recall his drones. Bobby pretended to give out more orders via hand signals, but when the drones began to file out by way of the chamber entrance, he followed. The rest of his men would have gotten Banachek's group secured inside vans under the supervision of Tracks and Firestar.

He wanted in on the interrogations. He also wished that Lennox could be there to give his opinion from having worked under Banachek all this time. However, he was stopped from getting into the van that held Tom by a wave from his comms officer. "Encrypted call for you from SecDef, sir." The man led him to the armored jeep parked away from the vans. Epps glanced back as two of the vans started up, the one containing Banachek following next. He huffed, irked, and pulled himself into the jeep by the side roll bar. He confirmed his identity then accessed the call.

"Sergeant Epps, I have a new proposal for you. I think you'll like it more than your previous job. There will be some familiar faces around..."

* * *

Prowl, Inferno, and Chromia were waiting at Edwards Air Force Base when two C-17's touched down. The airfield was cordoned off with only a specifically selected number of receiving crew nearby to help with the unloading. Huffer and Windcharger had gone ahead to the Ark, passing along Wheeljack's readings and Ironhide's cave scans to Perceptor. A team would return to Australia to excavate Live Convoy once the Autobots had regrouped and the Combaticons had been incarcerated, .

Chromia strode onto the runway with no regard to the bustle around the first plane, also ignoring Prowl's call for her to return to her station. She walked right up to the offramp of the second plane and stepped onto it, crouching to clear the door frame as she entered the cargo space. She moved past three sports cars and halted, crossing her arms as she stared down at the Topkick still anchored to the floor. The technicians were quick to remove the straps and chains from the vehicles. They knew they weren't at risk, but the sight was intimidating all the same. The three cars were just as quick to disembark.

Ironhide transformed but did not stand fully. He gazed up at her. The second their optics met she felt a distinct pang of failure wash over her spark. She reached out for his hand to offer to pull him up, but instead he took her hand tightly in his, bowing his head over it. Chromia uttered a soft, questing electronic trill. She placed her other hand on the back of his head, leaning over to cradle him against her.

She spoke quietly in Cybertronian, "You did not find what you were looking for."

"No," he replied in a whisper. She released him so he could raise his head and look her in the optics. She gently clasped his face between her hands, then brushed one finger over the scarred side. He continued, "But I know how we can save Cybertron."

Her optics brightened and she searched his gaze for further hope. However, they dimmed when he transmitted a series of gylphs that he had not shared with the others. The weight of a severe decision settled over her and she leaned forward again, touching her forehead to his as he took her hand again and clasped it tightly.

* * *

_"Tonight on the six o-clock news: John Keller steps down as the Secretary of Defense with no notice. Does this have to do with the events at Edwards Air Force Base and how will his successor handle relations with the Autobots? Channel Two News will find out."_

_

* * *

_

"Well, that was laughable," Motormaster snorted after reviewing the capture of the Combaticons. Soundwave may have been incarcerated but his plague of Insecticons were still doing well with spreading themselves around the globe. "And _Onslaught_ wanted to take over as leader? His processors must be rusting if he let himself be distracted so badly."

"The lesson will teach him where his place in the Decepticon hierarchy is," replied a mech on a communications feed; the only visible part of him was a vague angular outline and a single, circular yellow glow in the middle that didn't illuminate his other features.

"Three down, one to go - or two to go, if I am not still in your good graces." Motormaster grinned a wide, horrible grin. "Patience is not one of my traits, you know."

"I do know. I appreciate your temperamental sacrifice in the name of loyalty to the Decepticon cause. Your situation will change soon. I have several leads on Starscream and what he has discovered. He will be caught and eliminated. With internal strife quelled we will claim what is ours from the other four planets."

"We will be ready and willing to crush this mudball when you command, Lord Shockwave."

When the feed ended Motormaster's grin became a sneer. From behind him Barricade spoke. "Patience is the only thing keeping us from ending up like the Combaticons and the others."

"This planet should already be nothing but an outpost," Motormaster snarled in reply. "Yet, no! We failed to commandeer the Ark, failed to resurrect Megatron, and now we just _hide_ instead of even moving toward destroying the last of the Autobots!"

"These are not the last. There are more out in space," Barricade said.

The Stunticon leader rumbled loudly in warning. Barricade responded in a flat tone, "It is the truth. All your thundering will not change that." Motormaster went silent, which Barricade found more disturbing than the Stunticons' need for immediate, violent destruction. He hated all five of them, but he had his own orders from Shockwave. "Frenzy and the others have completed their infiltration. They will obtain the remaining information we seek and then you can reduce the humans' cities to cinders when you distract the Autobots. _I_ will take care of the boring work."

"I can make your job much easier by burning _everything_ down. Then all you have to do is sift through the ashes." He uttered an ugly laugh. Barricade ignored him.

**To Be Concluded**


	15. Epilogue

_Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has endured the lengthy delays in the completion of this fic. I appreciate that you stayed tuned and continued to read. You're all wonderful! :)  
_

_

* * *

_

**Renewal - Epilogue**

Powerglide sat alone in the empty underground hangar that was once ARROW headquarters. Everything had been seized, crated, and was being transported to yet another secret facility. He had heard that the newest group was headed up by John Keller, which improved the chances of the operation, but that was all he knew about it.

Breckstein had been the one to tell him and to offer the estranged Autobot complete freedom to go where he pleased rather than be shuffled off with the rest of the aging collection. He trusted the man, because Eugene's concern for him when the blast doors had been opened was priority. The others, while not on Banachek's side, had been all too quick to annihilate the Sector Seven experiments rather than merely subdue them. The pieces had been swept up for study later. The cause of their attack had yet to be determined. Powerglide had most of the remains from an mp3 player hidden in his cockpit.

Somewhere beyond the hangar a steel door creaked. Powerglide gazed up at the rafters and then around at the walls, watching dust motes drift through the beams of florescent light. Maybe he would stay right where he was and enter stasis-lock, sleeping through whatever mayhem the inhabitants of the universe would unleash upon each other. One blitzkrieg or another, large or small, time and again. Did it matter what planet he was on, who he took shelter with?

He wanted to go home.

He cycled out a long sigh of air and watched the dust motes swirl on the resulting current, wondering if it would be better to simply wander the stars and never really settle down anywhere. No worries about finding allies that could truly be trusted, no fear of being taken advantage of for any reason...

He glanced sadly at the swastika that accompanied his victory marks. He missed his old pilots. He had been able to trust them to fly straight and true during battle. It hadn't been any of their decisions to hand him over to Sector Seven. He should have reformatted to a newer model and slipped in amongst the British air force, or discreetly arranged to be stored in a museum...

He sighed heavily again. There was one main problem with leaving Earth, anyway. He didn't have the power to get off the planet on his own.

_

* * *

_

The mountains where the Ark had crashed weren't the tallest in the world, but the altitude and clear airspace allowed a sentient jet to stretch his wings. Thundercracker regularly broke the sound barrier to his spark's content. Dirge, he noted, came up there to brood when the clouds were low enough to cover the peaks.

On one such afternoon the two were out so that there would be fewer mechs filling needed space at the Ark. The excavation in Australia had been completed and the delivery was expected soon. Thundercracker was curious but understood that the science team had work ahead of them and didn't need unnecessary personnel in the room. Dirge wanted to be out of the way for his own reasons.

After practicing some stunt flying, Thundercracker transformed in the middle of a dive and skillfully pulled up right at the side of Dirge's chosen ledge, perching beside him with nary a rock displaced. "Oh, well done," Dirge graveled out. "Going to do tricks every day for the rest of your life? They are never going to accept you and I, you know." He gestured broadly toward the town beyond the mountain range, then in the direction of the Ark. "Humans will not really accept our kind to begin with and you _know_ there will always be a few dozen Autobots who will not trust us."

"Optimus Primes trusts us. The rest will follow his example."

"Pah. Optimus Prime does not have the best judgment. As soon as the other Decepticons surface they will be pointing fingers and calling us traitors. I could start counting down the days until Swindle gets caught double-dealing."

Thundercracker raised an optic ridge. "Swindle is another matter entirely. He is always a wild card. We swore our neutrality and proved it."

"Maybe _you_ did. I was nonfunctional for months." Dirge uttered an annoyed rumble and turned away from him. He then tilted his head slightly as he saw an outdated aircraft flying in their general direction. He grinned somewhat on the unpleasant side. "Well, if it isn't the hero of the humans' World War. Come to buzz us again?"

"As long as it isn't ARROW business," Thundercracker murmured as he pushed off the ledge to transform and meet the visitor. Dirge did likewise. For a few minutes anyone from the town who might have looked up at the noise would have wondered what an old Havok, a lone imitation Blue Angel, and a Harrier were doing in the same airspace.

The three landed and transformed on a small mesa below the mountain tops. Thundercracker approached with one hand out in greeting while Dirge hung back. Powerglide hesitated for a second, then shook the proffered hand. "Have you come to see history, too?" Thundercracker asked.

"History of what?" Powerglide sounded confused.

"You haven't heard what was found?"

"No. I wasn't really in contact with the Ark unless I spoke with Broadcast. I heard he was in critical condition, and otherwise I've been... busy."

Dirge chortled and spoke up from behind Thundercracker, "So you didn't notice anything extraterrestrial going on back during your fight with the Axis of Evil?"

Powerglide shifted to look past Thundercracker, optics narrowed. "Which one?"

"See!" Dirge pointed accusingly. Thundercracker held one hand up toward him, the other against Powerglide's chest.

"Dirge, do not instigate. You know from the report that the body had been buried for several thousand years."

"Body?" Powerglide quickly switched attention to Thundercracker. "Whose body?"

"An ancient Cybertronian," Dirge provided, now facing away from the other two. "A fleshli- a _friend_ of Ironhide's found it, showed him, and when some of our _mutual acquaintances_ arrived on planet, there was a little scuffle, and now a no-longer-a_live_ Convoy is on his way here."

"ARROW didn't know," Powerglide said, both stunned and relieved.

"Thank the Allspark," Dirge scoffed.

"Dirge, enough," Thundercracker warned with a stern look. He turned again to Powerglide. "The body was in Australia, so we've been waiting several weeks for the excavation and delivery."

"And today it's here," Dirge announced, grinning over at them while pointing to the horizon.

Powerglide lowered a set of round lenses over his optics, magnifying his visual reception to see the speck Dirge indicated; it was a C-17. He thought for a moment. "While I'm sure a deceased Prime's remains raise questions about Earth, I came here for another reason. I want to find a way to leave this planet."

_

* * *

_

Lennox and Epps, more familiarly attired in their respective army uniforms, exchanged stories as they headed for the courtroom designated for Tom Banachek's hearing. Epps described the mystery cavern and Swindle's drones. Will told him of Ratchet's diagnosis. "You've _absorbed_ Allspark energy?" Bobby stared at him incredulously. "Man, you are like the King of Weird or somethin'."

Lennox chuckled, albeit awkwardly. "Nah, I'd say that was Sam. I think I'm more like just a duke."

The sound of someone running in high heels came from behind them. They turned as Maggie caught up and then stopped to catch her breath, holding out a CD case "Just got this from Latch. Swindle is refusing to testify on a live feed, but he sent a recording to serve as his testimony."

_"What?"_ Epps said, more statement than question. "He's the key witness!"

"Something about his identity being under some pan-galactic protection law. Shadow Proclamation, or something. Latch said it basically means that due to our lack of transwarp-spatial encryption, his location could be broadcast to beings he doesn't want finding him."

Will shook his head, bewildered. "Why the heck didn't he mention it sooner? Like when he first claimed he could offer testimony?"

Maggie pressed the CD toward him. "Sorry, I'm just the messenger. Review it first. Latch said it wasn't bugged, that it's genuine data."

Epps plucked it from her hand. "It better be. The more I hear of this bot, the more I wonder how a real deal with him holds up."

"He wouldn't lie to Latch," Maggie said solemnly.

Lennox cocked an eyebrow. "Does Latch have something on him?"

Maggie shrugged, trying too hard to make it look casual. "He's become more quiet about a lot of things. I thought I was making a connection with him, but two days ago he clammed up and will only talk official business with me."

Bobby and Will, each having their own friendship with at least one of the Autobots, traded glances. Two days ago the body of Live Convoy had arrived at the Ark. "Maybe he's helping with the autopsy results long distance," Will offered. "Ratchet had said it would take about a week to analyze everything."

"No, he would have told me if that was it. It's something else." She then gave them a frank look. "Don't let me keep you from the hearing." She pointed to the CD. "I've got more of ISOC's files to look into. Good luck." She strode off the way she had come.

Epps tapped the CD case against his palm. "Let's see what he's got to say that couldn't be transmitted live."

An hour and a half later they were sitting in the front row of the court room. Simmons was on the stand going over Banachek's history in Sector Seven. There was a man there named Brodsky who also had Sector Seven records to share. Lennox recognized a few ARROW agents seated around, including Eugene. John Keller was overseeing the hearing.

Banachek seemed calm throughout the proceedings, even nodding to some of the things said. He did, however, momentarily narrow his eyes when Swindle's testimony was played. The video image was of his fake human countenance, and the testimony included security clips from the base that had previously been viewed by the attendees, details of the device used to take control of the base's soldiers, and a vivid, often close-up view of the effects of the spark drain device upon Swindle's true body - without showing the Cybertronian's camera head and with his chest screen disfigured by back lighting, making him conveniently anonymous as far as a Cybertronian goes. Epps thought to himself that Swindle was very well-versed in eliciting sympathy over the torture of helpless bystanders.

Tom took the stand. "We all know why the Transformers came to Earth. We now know why the Decepticons stayed after the destruction of the Allspark. But what neither faction realizes is that their very presence is attractin' another threat to Earth. You have the slides of the alien glyphs ISOC translated based on previous finds by Sector Seven. The cavern contains more information, but what these here tell us is a warning to all Cybertronians that they are bein' tracked - something is seekin' for them, and it will destroy everything in its path to get to them. That is why I took over the base and was goin' to bomb both the Autobots and Decepticons. If they are gone, the 'beacon' will deactivate and take our planet off the radar of this threat."

Keller stood, the same look on his face as within Hoover Dam upon informing Tom that Sector Seven _now_ had a national saecurity issue on their hands. "How would killing them deactivate this beacon?"

"From what we have translated, it can 'sense' their sparks. That is why I used Swindle as a test subject. The Allspark energy in the converted Sector Seven experiments was too small to register, or rather, too small a spark fragment."

"Did your use of that... device on Swindle have any relation to the revolt of the Sector Seven-created N.B.E.'s?" Keller let the word 'torture' hang in the air between 'that' and 'device', as well as making a point to call the experiments by a significant acronym.

"I admit I was not aware of that side effect of turnin' the device to maximum after havin' performed partial drains on the... smaller N.B.E.'s."

Breckstein bolted up from his seat. "A fragment of a spark is still a spark! We also know that sparks can be split, and one half live on if the other half dies - or if it's suppressed. You did the same thing as Megatron!"

"For the greater good of the country," Banachek replied, still calm.

Breckstein was visibly fuming. The serviceman beside him took his arm to encourage him to sit - which he did, while muttering, _"Creep."_ It was clear he meant a harsher word.

Keller scowled at the interruption, giving Eugene a sharp look, but his next question was for Banachek. "Is that the same as your awareness of the potential danger of hiding the Allspark and Megatron?"

"Those were the decisions of my predecessors."

"Yet you have repeated their oversight. You gave me ARROW only to use the resources for ISOC. Your R and D gave us anti-Cybertronian weapons while you were hiding devices that would have been rejected and decommissioned. Tom, you had what you needed to collaborate with the President and I on what to do about the situation. We could have alerted the Autobots and made a joint effort to oust the Decepticons, and, if the Autobots were aware that their presence was a danger to us, they would surely leave willingly. If your translations are correct, I have every confidence that the Autobots will make preparations to contain their current Decepticon detainees and choose the right course of action as soon as they have reviewed these glyphs for themselves."

"The Ark will have to go, too, Tom said mildly. "You'll have to start helpin' them dig it out."

_

* * *

_

Rattlelatch peered across the dank, abandoned subway station, his external lighting casting a bluish hue across everything. He had figured that it probably wasn't _completely_ abandoned, but it was far away from humans and city noise. On the other hand, the rows of exposed I-beams and tangibly oppressive ceiling reminded him of a bad incident on Cybertron. At the moment, however, he was accepting of the memory and claustrophobia. The advantage of the station's depth was what he had sought - most communication signals couldn't reach it. He had been careful to broadcast the approximation of his whereabouts to Autobase and the Ark, although his message warned that he was busy.

He dimmed his lights, gazing down toward the tracks that lay in disrepair. He then jolted upright, lights glowing as he realized that at another time he would have been collecting those scraps and the electrical systems that ran them. He tried staring at the ceiling again, but it felt like it was lowering onto him even if his sensors were saying it couldn't be, and he shuddered, dimming his lights again.

A faint crackle registered on his internal comm, a highly encrypted message squeaking through. Swindle's voice whispered, "Yoohoo, Latch-i-boy, I know you're out there..."

The minibot put his face in his hands, dragging them down in a weary fashion. "What do you want now, Swindle?"

"I heard a little rumor that a few of the fly boys want to leave the planet. I was thinking I'd extend my generosity and give them a lift on my transport. I'd like to know if you want to come along. I've found I missed having a partner with your talents."

"You mean you need someone to watch your back."

Swindle didn't reply, but Rattlelatch could picture the knowing smirk that would be on his chest screen. No response to the comment came, so he stayed silent as well, staring across the way at the I-beams, imagining he could see debris falling behind them, then in front of them, the dust cloud billowing toward him. He blinked the memory away.

"What do you say, Latch m'boy?"

"For starters, don't call me by any nicknames. Just 'Latch' is fine."

"Deal."

"I didn't agree yet."

"My, you're touchy today. I'm sorry to have bothered you." He sounded like he meant it.

Rattlelatch considered mentioning his thoughts even though Swindle was the last mechanoid in the universe anyone should confide in; yet, whatever passed for trust for Swindle he seemed to have placed it in the minibot.

"I'll think about it, Swindle. I could use a change of scenery... before I become part of it."

_

* * *

_

Jazz knew the meeting was serious and that the subject should be afforded utmost reverence, but as he situated himself on Teletraan-1's main console, he couldn't help thinking that the atmosphere was drowning in geeky wavelengths. He could have used some background music to make things slightly livelier. He also wished that his brother was there to share the opinion with him. Even sharing the meeting via data feed wasn't possible at that moment since Broadcast had been placed in a cryogenic stasis chamber in preparation to transfer him to his new body.

A cable led from Jazz's back to the console, boosting the security on the feed to Autobase. Bumblebee, Arcee, Chromia, and Ironhide were there guarding the Allspark shard. Everyone else was at the Ark.

Ratchet and Wheeljack stood to one side as Perceptor called for everyone's attention. "I have completed the translation of both sets of glyphs. Those in the cavern that the humans discovered were carved by the very Ancient who came to rest here: Live Convoy." He lowered his head for a moment in respect. "He transcribed an account of his visits to this planet and subsequent visits by his followers. His edification was of continuous observation of planetary birth in the universe. He and his followers were recording the development of this solar system, never interfering nor influencing... until an incident forced Live Convoy's hand.

"This is where Ironhide's file commingles. Live Convoy encountered what we know as the Seekers, those who searched for cosmic elements that could further protect or fuel the Allspark should it begin to fail. Live Convoy does not name the bot, or bots, who found him, but he does cite their message: An imbalance had seized Cybertron and was reaching out to touch the sparks of every Cybertronian, and would find them regardless of how far they had traveled. It would decimate our race and all that our culture had integrated with.

"I surmise that this imbalance refers to the division amongst our race, the progenitors of the Autobots and Decepticons. With the influence of the Primes spreading so far from 'home', those who had yet to find their calling or chosen Convoy were becoming disoriented. Live Convoy rallied the other Primes to return to Cybertron before the imbalance grew greater.

"However, he left behind a failsafe in the event that they were too late. It was something each of the Primes knew of, and Live Convoy indicates that the others acted in concert with him regarding them. A few followers of each remained upon chosen planets to guard the secret. A second set of glyphs in Ironhide's file hints at it, but does not name it. I believe it is a relic much like the Allspark, although I have no evidence of what it can do nor its physical appearance. I do not believe that any were put into effect. The final message in the cavern is written by Live Convoy's last follower. It states that the Prime was going to return to this solar system. Whoever killed Live Convoy assaulted him and perhaps this follower as well before he could send or carve another message, to give a warning or relay the outcome of the mission of the Primes."

While everyone else was quiet thinking over the information, Jazz was quickest to speak his mind. "So, should we try to find this relic, see what it can do? Even if it don't bestow happy vibes throughout Cybertroniland, it's still a piece a' our history."

A few glances turned to Optimus for his thoughts on the suggestion. His optics were dim and distant, his processors whirring at high speed. After a few moments he said, "There is no memory from Pax Convoy of any plan or of relics other than the Allspark. He acknowledged the division had begun to occur, but he and his descendants remained neutral until Zeta Prime cast off the title of Convoy and sided with the Autobots."

The others were silent for several more minutes; not all of them knew Optimus could access the data tracks of his Convoy lineage.

Ironhide finally broke the silence. "I think we should try the search. There _are_ more 'Cons to catch, after all. We might find both along the way."

"How will we know this relic, though?" Gears asked.

"Maybe we should search for that last follower," Wheeljack suggested. "If his body is buried like Live Convoy's was, he might at least be _near_ it's location. I mean, that's kinda logical, if he was supposed to be guardin' it."

"Or he might have led his attacker in the complete opposite direction for that same reason," Prowl interjected.

"So?" Wheeljack replied. "It ain't like there aren't enough of us to cover the four corners of the globe, metaphorically speakin'. If we get help from our human friends, it might even go faster - for all we know, it's already in a Sector Seven vault somewhere. Or whoever's vault. I've lost track." He thoughtfully tapped his mouth guard.

* * *

_Some time later..._

"Welcome aboard the _U.S.S. Flagg_, boys an' girls."

Maggie stepped down from the Black Hawk and slowly moved away from it, taking in the sight of the aircraft carrier's sparsely-manned deck. Lennox, Epps, Breckstein, and Simmons looked right at home. Despite having military-issue clothes, she and Glenn had an aura of being lost.

The young man with the Brooklyn accent who had greeted them was smiling while rocking on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back. He did look like he belonged there, yet at the same time he managed to seem out of his element. "When you're done gapin', follow me." He then flashed Maggie a grin. Taken aback, she waited for Will or Bobby to follow first.

They went to the control tower for another view of the deck before they were joined by John Keller. "It's good to see you all made it here," he said, meaning he was glad they had accepted. "We're off to a successful start, but I'm more than ready to launch the next phase. Here are your dossiers with cabin assignment, this week's training schedule, and codenames. Start studying." He handed them each a sealed manila envelop. "You've got time to get into the routine around here but you need to keep on it. I know not all of you need that warning but you are aware that _anyone_ could wash out from lack of diligence."

His gaze fell on Glenn, who nodded. Maggie was proud of him. He had worked hard to prove himself worth being included in this team, even though it wouldn't lead to being partners with an Autobot. He did get that new phone, though, with all the bells and whistles that Keller needed him to have for the job.

"You may now leave to situate yourselves. At eighteen hundred hours there will be a meeting in the gear hall to distribute the cold weather attire. You will want to include the parkas, it'll be cold up north." He paused to inhale, lifting his head in salute to them. "Sigma Six, you are dismissed."

**The End**

_Coming next in The Remembrance Trilogy: Transformers: Resilience._

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As a final disclaimer: I don't own the Transformers, the Autobots, or the Decepticons, nor G.I. Joe or Sigma Six, nor Doctor Who. I'm not making any money off of this fan fiction, it is merely for entertainment purposes.

My fan created characters do belong to me, those being Rattlelatch, Rhythm & Blues, and human extras that were made for the express purpose of playing in the Transformers universe.


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